The Journey Begins
by luckyponygirl
Summary: Aiedale Darklighter finds herself in Middle Earth. Alone and desperate to find a way back home she finds herself caught up with the Fellowship of the Ring. Her only chance to return to her own home may be follow them as the war for Middle Earth is fought around her. Can she remain apart? This warrior of shadow may find things are never as they seem.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello there. I have had this plot bunny running around for a while and just decided I might as well post it. I am busy writing my other story which means updates might not be at all regular. I am also in high school and have a very busy sport schedule as it is but I love to write and am dedicated to keeping my stories happening. I am also not sure how many people would enjoy a MI/LOTR crossover. It is an experiment on my part and a chance to explore crossovers. If people are excited about it then I will be inspired to keep going on it. **_

_**First: this is not a romance and there will be no OC pairing with any member of the Fellowship. Yes it is a '10th walker' but she is a Shadowhunter which means she is already a skilled fighter but not without her own faults or issues. I will do my best to make her realistic and steer clear out of cliches that people (including me!) have gotten sick of. If you see my character falling into Mary-Sue land then please tell me and I will reevaluate the story. I love constructive criticism that makes for a better story. **_

_**Second: the story will be centered on the book universe of Middle Earth. Of course having Aiedale around will influence events a little like the ripple effect. However, I will keep these ripples realistic and make sure that any changes that do happen are logical. That is the main goal of this story: a Shadowhunter in Middle Earth and what her experiences are. The story is about Aiedale and her journey home which involves all the characters we know and love from the Tolkien books. That will mean change because Aiedale will bring change with her. **_

_**Backstory: The main character in this story is a seventeen year old Shadowhunter called 'Aiedale.' She lives at the Paris Institute with her cousins, their parents and her younger brother, James. Her parents are dead - killed demon hunting when she was six or seven but they were an old, respected and powerful member of the Clave. The story is set right after City of Glass. Aiedale was in Idris for the conflict with Valentine and will share more about her past and experiences as she moves through Middle Earth. She knows the Lightwoods but I think everyone in the Shadowhunter world sort of knows each other but Aiedale is not good friends with anyone from the original Mortal Instruments series and did not participate in any of the events in New York. She was a part of the battle in Alicante. I hope to explain more about her as the story goes along. **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own either the Mortal Instruments or Lord of the Rings series. This is just a fic that is made for fun and not for any kind of profit. **_

_**I hope you enjoy this story and please review! If you review then I will know that people want more of this story...**_

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Aiedale Darklighter was not known for ending up unconscious, hurting and alone in a forest. No. She was known among Shadowhunters for being cool headed, deadly and an excellent person to have by your side when you found yourself in a pickle of epic proportions. So why was she lying out here? She, my dear reader, was just becoming aware of that question and it was a question she to was trying to answer.

The young woman - just waking up and becoming aware - noted that she was lying on her back on soft ground. The sounds of birds and a gentle breeze making leaves rustle around her were the only noises her sensitive ears could pick up. She must be outside on a beautiful day. This, she considered, was at odds with the fact that the last time she had been conscious it was drizzling and there had been no birdsong nor soft grass but concrete and the low hum of mundane machines. Moving on in her evaluation of the situation she considered how she felt.

Aiedale identified three places of particular importance: her head which ached fiercely, her ribs which felt as if they were most likely broken and her shoulder. The pain from her ribs made her suspect they were broken – something she quite familiar with after years of demon hunting. The headache as well as the fuzzy cloud that hung around her thoughts told her she was likely concussed. Concussions, she knew, were the worst injury to heal even if you were a demon hunting and marked Nephilim warrior. The rest of her body ached and Aidale knew she must be covered in bruises.

Knowing all of this, she then turned her attention to what weapons she could feel were still on her. The cool stele was still resting on the inside of her right boot and the various knives hidden among her gear were still there. She could feel the way they rested against her and it was comforting to feel their slight pressure. Because she was lying on her back, the quiver of arrows and bow fastened across her back, were putting quite a kink her spine. She shifted to try and alleviate it. The small movement sent a spasm of intense pain through her chest and left her gasping for breath. Forcing it away, Aiedale opened her light green eyes.

Cerulean blue sky framed by green leaved trees. A bright sun that hurt her eyes and made her quickly close them again. She quickly squeezed them closed, wincing at the spikes of pain that the light caused.

Was she alone? Widening her senses she listened for suspicious noises. Nothing. Smell? Nothing out of the ordinary - no monster stench nor the musky odor that clung to Downworlders or at least it did to everyone except for vampires. But the sun was out and that ruled out the Night Children and many other nasty things that sprang to mind.

There was, she thought as her eyes adjusted and she was able to glance around her, something very young and peaceful about this place. The trees, the warm grass, the birds chirping in the trees and the gentle breeze that cooled her face was so different from the dirty air and paved streets of Pairs. It was like being back in Alicante. For a long moment she let herself relax against the ground and merely enjoy that her heart was still beating and she was still alive. Questions buzzed through her mind but, like all Shadowhunters, she knew when to merely appreciate the gift of life and wait for the answers. Her heart still beat and she could heal her injuries. Life was maybe okay.

After a long moment she forced herself into a sitting position with her legs stretched out in front of her as she braced her arms behind her. The headache intensified and things spun around her but she merely waited for it to pass as she knew it would. Sitting up did nothing to improve her ribs and the movement had reopened the shallow cut along her collar bone just above the collar of her gear. She ignored the steady trickle of warm blood that trailed down her black leather gear. Instead, moving very slowly, she drew the stele from her boot and slowly - painfully slowly - pushed her sleeve up enough to show one of her runes. Drawing the stele across the skin she completed the iratze. The familiar burn of it made her feel a little better – it was such a familiar feeling and it had become a comforting hall mark of her life.

The relief was immediate. Her head grew clearer, her wound sealed and her ribs mended themselves back together. Without pain and feeling stronger by the minute, the young Shadowhunter was able to confront the questions she had out off in favor of first ensuring she was alone and then healing her injuries.

What in the name of Raziel was she doing here? Her senses, heightened to unnatural awareness by years of training and experience, told her she was far from home. This was not France and nor, she was beginning to suspect, was this anywhere she could reach by portal or mundane means. It was _different_. The air, the ground, the sky, the plants and the animals all seemed imbued with something alien. Yet, the longer she let herself examine the world around her, she sensed a shadow - something dark that flitted around the corners and hid the moment she identified that it was there. It was like looking at a perfect red apple and cutting it up to find a rotten seed. It was like wandering in a fog to find, all of sudden, that one was standing on the edge of a cliff. She tensed slightly as she came to this conclusion and vowed, then and there, not to think that this beautiful clearing was as peaceful as she had thought it was at first. The promise fitted right in with her Shadowhunter wariness and natural tendency to mistrust.

She had been, recalled Aiedale, hunting demons with her cousins who also lived at the Paris Institute. They had been successful and about to return to the Institute when something had happened. She remembered falling and then nothing - not even what had caused the falling bit. With a frustrated Humph the young woman glared at the trees in front of her. What was the use in remembering everything but what had happened to make her land in this foreign place? What? Angry frustration was welling up inside of her and that was mixed with exhaustion and, to her shame, fear. She was not supposed to ever feel fear. Ever. So she ignored it.

However, even worse than not knowing anything about how she ended up here was she had no way of contacting her cousins nor any other Shadowhunter for her phone, after a brief inspection, was cracked. Aiedale did not wish to draw signal runes when she did not know what was around. A rune could act like a beacon to unfriendly things and she was in no mood to fight right then. So, to top of this truly awful day, she had no way of getting a hold of the Clave. Even if she could she did not know where she was and so could not tell them how to find her. A growl slipped past her lips as her scowl deepened into something that would have made her younger brother turn the other way before she threw a knife. This was shaping up to be the worst day of her life and that was saying something.

Ruthlessly pushing it all away, Aiedale she undid her quiver and let it fall to the ground along with her silver wood bow. Her quiver was nearly full with neatly fletched arrows which contained a few explosive ones along with a few flares. Those ones were marked by a yellow or red strip down the shaft like a warning to be careful with them. Aiedale stroked the soft feathers for a second as she made sure that none of them had been damaged by whatever had happened to her. The bow and arrows were standard among Nephilim that used a bow. Moving on, Aiedale removed her arm braces and the two seraph blades hidden between them and the leather of her sleever. With them off she pushed up her padded, lightly runed gear to expose more of the black marks that swirled up her skin. The runes spoke of strength and other skills meant to keep her alive even when the odds were stacked against her. Quickly Aiedale drew a iratze that sent a jolt of energy through her and one more healing iratze to deal with her few remaining bruises.

Then, slipping her stele back into her knee length, black boot made of soft but durable leather she rebuckled her black leather bracers which were marked with her family crest. She had other weapons on her, a few regular knives as well as a throwing dagger left to her by her father that she had slipped into her other boot. She had enough weapons to keep her going for now as well as the longer, slightly curved blade sheathed beneath her quiver. Slipping the seraph blades back under her braces she drew her quiver back on and rose from the ground. Black gloves, with faint silvery runes for better grip and protection, went back on over her slim hands with their faint scars. One hand quickly felt at her neck for the chain from which hung her family's silver ring and a sapphire pendant that had once belonged to her mother and was supposed to act a protection from evil eyes. Placing a hand to her rusty red auburn hair she scowled as she felt the dirt and dried blood mixed in her French braid. The plaited hair was stiff with it and it only served to add to her feelings of irritation. When she found who did this to her...

When her gear was carefully fastened again and her various knives and other Shadowhunter tools were ready should she need them, Aiedale set her jaw. She was a realistic girl - she knew better to stay in this place where her blood stained the bright green grass and, from what she could sense, was far from any mundane settlement. Better to move on and learn what she could until she was certain creating runes was safe and she could contact the Clave.

Making sure her tracks were confused and misleading, the Shadowhunter leapt into the branches of a sturdy tree. She would travel above ground, using her agility and superior balance to leap from branch to branch. With one last look to make sure that no one could follow her using any mundane skills, Aiedale was gone. She was nothing more than a silent black shadow that flitted high above the forest floor.

The exercise was oddly clearing for her mind for there was no time for her to think about everything that was wrong with this picture. It helped dissipate some of the frustration and the desire to punch something or, better yet, kill something. She would find a way out of this – when she had determined where she might be she would contact the Clave and that would be the end. Anyway, she reasoned with herself, she was Nephilim. A warrior of light who walked the shadows with no fear and she, above all, did not know the meaning of fear.

It was then that she sensed them. Then she saw them and it only reconfirmed that she must be farther from home then she had originally guessed.


	2. Chapter 2

They were, without doubt, the strangest group she had ever seen before. Small little things they were with curly hair and the largest, hairiest feet that had no shoes upon them. They were about three feet tall and their faces were round and soft. No sadness seemed to mark them as they walked down the lane towards the west. They seemed, to the Shadowhunter perched high above in the branches of an old patient oak tree, to be very innocent and very foolish. They reminded her of the mundane tourists who walked the streets of her city snapping photos of the buildings and trying to communicate in atrocious French.

There was one, with dark hair and a careful look to him, who her eyes fell on with interest. He actually looked cautious and as if he was worried about pursuers or being seen. Yet, she noticed with amusement, that worry did not make him step any lighter upon the ground or choose to walk in the shadows of the trees instead of in the bright openness where anybody could watch them unobserved. Walking beside him was a stout, blonde haired one who seemed burdened with a ridiculously heavy looking pack. Behind them walked two more that seemed even younger and had a look to them that reminded Aiedale of her younger bother – trouble makers and not too bad as heart breakers either.

Aiedale was torn. Did she go down and ask them for assistance? Or did she stay high up here and wait for some humans to appear? However, she had the impression that it would not be very difficult to escape these creatures and it would be better to find out where she was for the sooner that happened the sooner she could be gone from this strange place. It was so alien and foreign that she was beginning to wonder if home was far farther then she had thought it might be originally.

So, smoothing her face of any emotion, she dropped from the branch and landed with all the surefooted grace of her kind upon the ground.

The creatures came to a sudden halt.

Silence.

They stared at each other. Each of the creatures fixed on her just as she was fixed on them.

Waiting. Watching.

The wind rustled some of the dead leaves that had fallen from the trees around them.

An autumn sun sent down its fading warmth as it slowly dropped towards the dip of the horizon.

As Aiedale looked them over the hobbits were also looking at her with wondering and rather frightened eyes. After all it was such a shock to see a dark figure, which reminded them horribly of the Black Riders, drop with light ease from a branch twenty feet above them and land as if she had merely stepped down.

Frodo, for he had been warned by Gandalf, was looking at her with particular care. He took in the body that seemed to be nothing but lean corded muscle and the bow slung across her back. He glanced at the cool jade green eyes that examined him and his companions with a watchful and guarded look – a gaze that he could not hold for long. The rusty red auburn hair was braided up and yet Frodo could see traces of what looked like dried blood along the base of her hairline. There were smudges of dirt and dried blood on her fair, fine boned face. He knew - for he had seen some Big Folk before - that this girl would be called beautiful by them but she seemed so different. The look to her face and the way she was dressed – the very air around her – spoke of something very different. Not dark like the Black Riders or soothing like the aura that hung around Gildor and his elvish companions that they had met as they set out from the Shire. No, it was something he could not name but it seemed to be almost alive. As if this girl was a cold fire and light that was hidden until she chose to let it go. Frodo was not sure what to make of her and he took a small stop away from her, aware, as he did so, of what he carried and what followed him.

"What are you?" asked Aiedale curiously and before she could stop herself or consider just how rude she was being. She did not know what was getting into herself but she seemed to be forgetting all her manners and diplomacy in which she had excelled. She decided to file it away for future reference just in case she was loosing her smooth touch and would need to return to the lessons that had instilled it in her. "Who are you?" she asked again and this time with a little amusement for their obvious wariness and yet curiosity reminded her painfully of her youngest cousin, Jean, who was not yet ten. It had not escaped her how the dark haired one had stepped away from her nor the way the stout one stood closer to him as if to act as a shield.

"My dear lady," said the youngest looking one, "we are hobbits of the Shire!" His voice rose with indignation as if shocked that she would not know this very important fact. It was as if they had met at a party and not on an empty road in dark times. "My name is Pippen." He gestured at himself and then told her that the dark haired one beside him was 'Merry' and that the stout one was 'Sam-wise.' He paused for a brief moment on the last hobbit but said with a large smile, "And he is Frodo."

The one called Merry laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and said soothingly, "Big Folk don't know of us remember? It isn't their fault." His whispered words carried easily to her sensitive ears but she chose to pretend she had not for the sake of appearing normal – or at least as normal as a blood stained and armed girl in the middle of a forest can be.

"So," said Aiedale with an easy smile she had long ago perfected and seemed to ease any situation she found herself in, "can you tell me where this is?" She gestured around them and then lifted her shoulders in a sort of small shrug as if to say 'I know it is such a silly question.'

It was Frodo who answered as if hoping by answering quickly they could just move on and pretend they had never met her. "We are a day's walk from Bree miss. Just outside of the Shire and the OldForest. You are north of Gondor and Rohan."

Now Aiedale was truly beginning to feel as if the world was crumbling around her. Those were places she had never heard before nor seen on any mundane or Nephilim or even Downworlder map. She knew there were other worlds, other dimensions, but so far only demons had ever been able to travel between them. The idea that she had – and it was beginning to sound like she had – made her feel rather sick to her stomach. After all, how did one get to another dimension - even more importantly to her - how did one get back? Besides what were hobbits exactly? What dangers lay in this world that she may never have encountered before? If she had traveled through from one place – her home – to another completely different land then the implications were mind blowing.

However, none of these thoughts or the dread growing inside of her, showed upon her smooth and implacable face. She was used to many outlandish things and had grown to expect the unexpected. For now – at least in front of the hobbits – she showed none of her emotions.

"Where are you going?" was her query asked in the same friendly, conversational voice. She guessed, quite correctly, that the hobbits did not travel much. Their very manner of dress and the way they had seemed surprised that someone did not know of what a hobbit really was had told her that. So she guessed that they would be going to somewhere populated either with more of their kind or to mundanes which they seemed to call 'Big Folk.'

"To Bree," said Frodo for he really was the leader and the cause of this adventure and so was required to take some control. "We have business there." He looked at her pointedly as if to say 'so let us be gone.'

Aiedale saw the look and understood it as a 'hurry up and go away' but it was then that something very strange happened. After all, Aiedale really had no wish to accompany the hobbits and it was quite a mutual feeling. However, it was then that Aiedale had the strangest and most unusual urge to offer her services as a warrior of Raziel to these hobbits who were obviously on the run from something. The feeling, a compulsion so strong she could not force it away, crept up on her and forced her to ask with genuine concern as if they were fellow Shadowhunters and not completely foreign little hobbits. "Do you need help?"

She was just as shocked as the hobbits. The words had slipped out and the way they were spoken was just as shocking to her as it was to the hobbits. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with the world? Why would she ask such a thing in such a way as if she actually knew these 'hobbits' and cared for them? Her loyalty was hard to come by and each action, she knew, had a price.

Sam, who had been looking at her with the widest and most mistrustful eyes, said from his place right beside Frodo. "Why would you want to help us?" his voice started out certain but then faltered as he ended with a hurried, "if you don't mind me asking miss."

He seemed to want to appear strong, mused Aiedale, but was too unsure of himself to challenge he; especially as she was obviously armed and they seemed to carry nothing more than one slim dagger each at their sides. The blades were lead-shaped with black sheaths but, while clearly of fine make, they would not have held up to her kindjal or seraph or any number of the other knives hidden among her leather gear. Besides, these hobbits did not look like they could manage a knife outside of a kitchen or a garden.

Yet, even as her thoughts wandered over the hobbits who stood uncertainly before her, Aiedale was puzzling over Sam's question. Finally she found an answer that did not involve strange compulsions or telling these little creatures that she was not from anywhere even remotely close to 'Bree' or the 'Shire.' Or even telling them that she was Nephilim and therefore had a certain duty to help those in need when things got dark and a blade with a fearless warrior was needed. Drawing herself upright and ignoring the faint soreness that it caused, she met their gazes and said quietly and very seriously. "I am from very far away and I need to find a way home. By helping you I may be able to find that way." Aiedale was silent for a long moment and then said, "I can fight and, if you know the way, I will ensure that you reach your destination."

The hobbits looked at her as if she had grown two heads and yet, in their little faces, she saw something like relief. It was most apparent in Pippen and Merry who seemed to want someone to lean on – someone who could take the burden of leadership and care for them. Aiedale did not know yet of what these 'Black Riders' were or their effect on people but she could see the fear, the hesitation and the desire to know that someone was guarding them with a blade or bow. She also did not know that these hobbits – well really it was Frodo – were carrying something of incredible value to certain evil things nor did she know that by helping them she was involving herself in something that would not easily let her go.

"There is trouble following us," said Frodo with his earnest little voice. "You could be killed." His eyes were wide with the truth of what he was saying and the unspoken 'we could be killed to.' The hobbit swallowed nervously and gestured behind and then to sides, "Black Riders of the Enemy are following us."

It was then that strange compulsion came over her again. She felt as if turning away, after telling them what she had, was not only wrong but would destroy any chance of finding her way from this dimension and back to her own home. She did not know what these Black Riders were nor what the Enemy was but it did not matter then. For, to say 'no' as many would have done when they were told such a thing, did not seem to be an option and each rule, each law that she had memorized from the Nephilim Codex, was telling her to offer her services. To help them and guide them as much as she could despite the danger and simple fact that she had no idea what she was getting into. She was Nephilim and her runes gave her the skills of the greatest of warriors. Aiedale set her jaw as she always did when she about to make a choice that she did not want to make but had to.

Besides, whispered a soft voice in her mind, follow them and you might find some mundanes. Then you can see where it all goes. The voice had a slightly forced positive ring to it that made her doubt it. It was the kind of voice used by someone who was willing to fake it until they made it.

What are you planning on doing? Think your way through this mess? Came that annoying and terribly honest voice from somewhere to the opposite of the positive one. A low growl escaped Aiedale's lips as this train of thought spiraled into the repetitive circle that solved nothing at all. The hobbits all looked at her anxiously but she merely nodded her head shortly. "Then let's move."

They stared at her. Open eyes and mouths slightly agape as if shocked that anyone would want to accompany them on this journey without so much as a single question. They were as surprised as Aiedale was and not nearly as irritated by it all. With an icy glare she gestured at the road and snapped, "We will walk beside the path. In the shadows. Come." Her words, delivered with the assurance of someone who knew of what they spoke, served to move the hobbits far more quickly then she had hoped they would. Then, remembering that they had no idea what her name was she gestured at her chest, "I am Aiedale Darklighter."

Hobbits - it needs to be said now - were naturally trusting but they were wise enough in the ways of the world not to completely trust an auburn haired girl who looked like she had been through the wars. However, maybe the power that had brought Aiedale to this world was working on them just as it had worked on Aiedale. Maybe whatever had led them together and encouraged Aiedale to listen to her heart instead of her survival instincts, was helping the four hobbits see beyond first impressions and warnings delivered by an old wizard. They looked to her and saw something that made them accept her and treat her as if she was a long-standing member of their little group.

So they set out. This time they took the shadows and, on occasion, they looked back to her as if expecting to see that she had slipped away. Each time they did, they were met by a cool frown that quickly sent them back to looking at the ground in front of their feet. The one who seemed the most suspicious of her was the one called Sam-wise. He kept glancing back and never left his master's side. His constant wariness and glances grated against Aiedale's nerves. She was the one who was volunteering her help and not the other way around!

As the hobbits walked ahead, Aiedale came behind and did her best to cover their racks. Of course she did not know much about forests or hunting in them for she had lived in a city of stone and concrete. She lived in Paris with its mix of ancient and modern. With a twisting labyrinth of catacombs buried deep beneath the streets where the foulest of demons walked. Yet she was a Shadowhunter and so she had been taught how to hide and how to erase. She knew how to confuse a follower and how to keep to the hidden places.

However, it was hard not to be impatient. Aiedale was used to speed and companions that moved with swift assurance from place to place with nothing more than their weapons. Hobbits knew nothing of that kind of speed and so she was left to walk quietly behind them and do her best not to stamp her feet with frustration. She was not that immature – she was just a Shadowhunter on edge.

Everything was wrong. The sun was too bright, the trees too silent and the air was heavy with something that felt terribly like anticipation. There seemed to a shadow following them and she often looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see something dark and deadly about to pounce upon the four hobbits. Yet, every time she looked back, all she saw was the brown and empty Road.

She fingered the hilt of the seraph blade hidden up her sleeve and wished she was not alone. That either her brother, James, was here to watch her back or one of the three cousins. Eleanor and Peter were all superb fighters in their own right and they trained together since James and she had arrived at the Institute. There had been many adventures shared between them as they tracked demons from crowded dance floors to the ancient catacombs that traced their way underneath Paris. Thinking of them renewed the urgency in her search for answers and a way home. She would help these hobbits and then go her own way – they had told her that they were going to a human settlement. She would find her answers there.

Aiedale knew she was merely postponing the eventually confrontation of the truth. She knew she was burying it all and trying to focus on something else as if the truth would just go away. But her muscles were still sore, her mind still reeling and the entire thing felt so unreal that it was hard for her to accept that all this had happened. That one moment she had been laughing after a hunt with her two cousins and younger brother then falling and then waking up in a quiet clearing completely alone. Her injuries did not make sense for; she was fairly certain she had only received the cut and not damaged her ribs or given herself a concussion when fighting that night. The rest of her injuries must have been caused by her trip from home to wherever this place was.

A desperate wish to know why and how she had come here was growing inside of her. She could feel the pent up frustration, her fear and longing to just go home and get away from these hobbits and this strange world that seemed haunted by darkness. For a brief second she stopped and tried to rein it all in. She was stressed beyond her mind and, despite the energy rune she had given herself, she was exhausted and that was playing havoc with her strung out emotions. If she continued along this way she would be able to take it no more and collapse in tears. Duty, she knew, came first. Her duty was to these hobbits and protect them from whatever was after them. There would be time later to cry, to vent her frustration on something but that time was not now. Time later to find a way back. There would be time because she would make sure there was time and no one was taking a one-way trip to an early grave.

Stepping forward, she tapped Frodo lightly on the shoulder and said softly in his ear. "What exactly is chasing you?" They were moving a few feet from the road along a small game trail that was shadowed from view by the heavy underbrush and trees. They could catch glimpses of the road every few feet as the trees broke enough or the underbrush grew thinner.

They did not slow their pace but the others drew closer to listen to their friend explain the strange shadows that they knew little of themselves. Frodo was silent for a moment and then said, "The Black Riders. They are shadows and I do not know how one might kill them. The Riders are on black horses and keep to the shadows – they like the night." He sent her an apologetic glance as if sorry he could not give her more information. For, as he had rightly guessed, she wanted all and every piece of information so that she would know exactly what they were dealing with and the best possible way to deal with it.

Sam murmured softly, "They make one feel all funny. Cold and as if there is no light or love in the world. It's a right nasty feeling Miss Aiedale. Makes me want to go and hide for a good long while somewhere they can't find me."

Aiedale digested this information and decided that these 'Black Riders' sounded a little like demons who sucked the life and energy from a mundane. Foul and dark creatures but, hopefully, they would be afraid of light and fire. Most things that wanted love or happiness or the desire to live were things that could not have it – things that were born of shadow and darkness. With that, she asked her next question, "How much farther to the destination you had in mind?"

"A few hours," said Merry who had the best idea of their location. "We spent a little too long in the OldForest to try and evade the Riders who stay to the Road."

Looking back in the direction they had come, Aiedale felt her senses tingle with warning. They needed to move and they needed to make that movement fast. She did not really know what the Black Riders were and so she gently rested her gloved hands on Merry and Pippen's shoulder and pushed them forward a little. Despite her best efforts to keep it restrained, her temper was rising within her. It was egged on by instincts that had never failed her before and the hobbits apparent lack of any survival skills. She was not hot headed by nature, quite the opposite, but she was running on nothing but adrenalin and fiery emotions.

Aiedale looked up. The sun was beginning to fall and darkness would come soon. For her that was nothing for the darkness was her friend and could hide her better then the sunlight mottled shadows of the trees ever could. However, the hobbits were not like her and could not see nor hear nor move like she could.

She looked at the hobbits and found that they had slowed a little and were looking at her with their nervous, trusting and yet hopeful eyes that made her feel like some sort of mother hen clucking her brood along. Even Sam, the wariest of them, and Frodo, who carried all the responsibility, was looking at her as if hoping she might pull a rabbit from a hat and say 'look! I have a solution!'

Forcing a smile to her face she spoke, "Then we will have to pace ourselves." She might have been proposing an afternoon stroll and not a carefully controlled run through the forest. Yet, despite the false cheeriness to her voice was a steely forcefulness that made the hobbits stand a little straighter.

"You mean run?" asked Sam with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. His blue eyes widening as if the thought of running – most likely jogging – was the most shocking idea he had ever heard. Aiedale felt like rolling her eyes but suppressed the childish impulse.

"Yes," was the unyielding response, "and then walk and then run. Or you can stay." Her gaze fixed on him and Sam found himself unable to formulate a response as she glared at him. He found himself feeling about as big as an ant as this strange girl met his gaze and forced him to come to the silent conclusion that the only way they would reach Bree safely was to move and to move quickly. Sam knew that they needed to get there and find Gandalf and once they did, Frodo would be safe again. He would run the woods for Frodo but that did not stop him from resenting the way this 'strange girl' told him to do it.

Aiedale watched with some amusement as the Sam blanched and looked away as if realizing how true her words were. The other three wisely chose to say nothing and continue walking. After a brief explanation of how they were to pace themselves, the hobbits started their jog towards Bree. They could not run easily with their packs and neither did they have the stamina to go for long at a good pace. But hobbits are sturdy folk and they could do what had to be done if inspired enough.

While they puffed their way along the small game trail, Aiedale came behind. She was doing her best to destroy the track that seemed, to her at least, to look like an elephant had rampaged around. The exercise was enough, at that particular point in her awful day, to induce some choice curses in French. The hobbits, she decided, were the worst travel companions she had ever had. They knew nothing of secrecy or silence – like the mundanes who wandered around her home land completely naïve to the threat of demons or the Downworlders who walked beside them. Maybe it was not fair of her but she was not feeling at all sympathetic to the panting, sweaty faced little hobbits.

There was, the longer they journeyed together, the question of just why these hobbits were out here like this. The question was added to the growing metal list of 'Top Priority Things' that would be answered the moment she had the hobbits somewhere that was defensible. Once she got there, well, she would ask them not only why but what made them take such a journey. It was obviously crucial to them and she could not help but wonder if they had expected some more help. Maybe they were hoping to meet up with someone at this 'Bree.'

Finally, as the sun began to set, they found themselves leaving the forest and coming upon the town of Bree. Upon the seeing the collection of stone houses nestling on the hillside with windows that looked west, Aiedale felt her already low spirits sink even lower. The sight of this medieval town was just one more confirmation that she had found herself in another dimension. There was nothing neither modern nor even Shadowhunter or Downworlder to this collection of houses with their dirt streets.

Of course, what Aiedale did not know, was that Bree was the chief village of the Bree-land, a small inhabited region, like an island in the empty lands about it. She did not know that this town was the largest mundane settlement she was likely to find this far to the West. To her, a girl used to thriving metropolises, it was a tiny little town with even tinier houses. If she was unimpressed however, the hobbits were feeling quite overwhelmed by this sight of towering Big Folk houses was a strange sight that did not reconcile with the idea that, for them, a house was a cozy little hobbit hole. Sam in particular was feeling overwhelmed and, standing here looking out at it, he could imagine all sorts of nasty things hiding between those dark houses or peering out at them from the big windows.

The gates were still open but would soon close and so, before allowing the hobbits out into the open, she stopped them. Their weary faces turned to look at her and she felt a small pang at how hard and ruthlessly she had pushed them forward. Aiedale hardened her heart and gestured towards the small town. In a very soft voice she asked them, "What is your plan?"

Frodo looked over towards the town that was lit with the dying rays of the setting sun. Turning back to Aiedale he said, "We are supposed to meet an old friend called Gandalf. Hopefully we will meet him and then continue east." He stopped and looked at Aiedale who nodded and then he continued, "The Prancing Pony Inn was recommended to us by a friend we stayed with during our time in the OldForest. At least until we know of Gandalf, we will stay there."

Aiedale was uneasy. She did not like the idea of how public this 'inn' might be and, if Frodo and his companions wished to go unnoticed…well they might find how quickly gossip could travel when a strange party arrives. Resting both hands on Frodo's shoulders she asked quietly, "Is it common for hobbits to ride to Bree?"

"No," said Pippen from behind him, "or at least not hobbits from the Shire. A few live here but we have little to do with them. They live in Bree-land and do not often do they come to Buckland or farther into the Shire." His voice had lost its pep somewhere along the trail and his eyes had the forlorn look of a tired child wanting to go to bed after a long day.

Aiedale bit her lower lip. It was as she had thought and, while she really owed them nothing, it seemed wrong to just leave them now. Suddenly, it felt as if they were her only connection in this strange land and she suddenly felt very out of place and alone. No, she would not leave them now but neither would she just walk in behind them with no hood to cover her face nor any idea how people behaved here. She guessed, from the medieval look of the place, that women would be relegated to the home and hearth – an idea she found positively archaic.

Looking at the silent hobbits, she said quickly, "You will go into Bree. Say only that you are visiting relatives but will be staying at the local inn. Is that possible?"

Merry was silent for a moment and then he nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, "it is a good story. But what about you?" His eyes flicked over her and then back to her face with a wary look as if afraid she would be insulted by his next words. "It's not common to look like you do."

Quickly thinking ahead the young Shadowhunter continued, "I understand which," she paused and then continued, "Is why no one but you four will see me." Their eyes widened and Fordo opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Not now," she looked at them beseechingly, "please. I will explain why and how when we are behind a door in this inn you speak of." Seeing the expressions on their faces she asked them, "Have I led you astray yet? Trust me on this."

They were silent for a moment before Frodo nodded and said, "Very well." Turning to his companions he said sternly, "Remember I am to be Mr. Underhill, if any name must be given."

"And go right to your room," said Aiedale firmly. "You do not want to become the centre of attention so go there and we will try to find this friend of yours." The hobbits nodded and drew the hoods of their cloaks up so that they covered most of their face before setting out. Just as Frodo turned to leave, Aiedale placed one small but firm hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "I do expect to find out why this is happening."

He turned and met the cool light green eyes that seemed incredibly old for the young fair face. Frodo sighed and whispered, "I will do my best. As will you I hope?" They looked at each other as both came to the mutual agreement that they would both do their best to explain why they had met.

She nodded and removed her hand from his shoulder before slipping back closer to the thick trunk of an old oak tree. Slipping her stele from its resting place along the inside of her boot she drew on a glamour which would hide her from all who did not know the truth of what they were seeing. She knew it might not work in this place but, if it did not, then it was no great feat to slip into a building from the back and then sneak her way to the hobbits. The test would be here, at the gate where, from what she could see, an aged looking man was sitting.

Once her glamour was raised, Aiedale slipped out and made her way after the hobbits who hurried along towards the village. The sun was nearly gone and the stars beginning to come out across the dark expanse of the sky. It made Aiedale rather happy to see so many – you could see none in a city like Paris and the last time she had seen a real night sky had been in Idris after the battle with Valentine and his demons. The memory of the celebration and the dancing that had followed brought a small smile to her lips even as it turned bitter with the memory of all those who had died.

With that her steps quickened. She would not think of it – she would confront all of this later. For now she had a duty to four little hobbits and that was quite enough for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Aiedale slipped past – unnoticed by the old gate keeper – and trailed behind the hobbits that walked up a gentle slope, passing a few detached houses, and then drew up outside the inn. The houses that she past were small and gloomy looking places with well kept looks to them but, still, gloomy. As for the inn, well Aiedale was hardly impressed by it either even though it had a pleasant look to it. It had a front on the Road, and two wings running back on land partly cut out of the lower slopes of the hill. It was a cheery place and its windows sent out light onto the street. The hobbits thought it rather welcoming and were eager to go in and find a comfortable place to put their feet up while they discussed what to do. Yet, to Aiedale, it was merely a hive of drunken mundane men and she knew, for she had long hunted among crowds, how dark things can hide when they can slip unnoticed.

Once, long ago, this town had been a great meeting place when these lands had been more populated. Men and other folk of various sorts had all traveled by this place as they traveled from all directions, and when the Shire-hobbits had been more adventurous. Those had been the days when the North Road was a well traveled and safe route, before the fall of Northern kingdom. It was because of that – those days of busy travel to and fro – that the inn had been built and been built to last. It had been a place of many meetings and many farewells. It had been called the same thing: THE PRANCING PONY since it had first been built and its current owner was Barliman Butterbur.

Aiedale watched as the hobbits entered and, steeling her nerves and consoling herself with the knowledge she was safely hidden by a strong glamour, followed behind Merry. The inside was, if anything, worse than what Aiedale imagined it would be. Smoke and cheerful voices joined loudly in a song that never seemed to end while heavy mugs of ale were slammed down onto tables. She would rather have been at a busy Parisian night club then surrounded by so many big, drunk, smelly and rowdy men. For a moment, a brief panicky moment, she could not see the hobbits and then, with a small sigh of relief, she spotted them. They were speaking to a round, sweaty faced man with a spotless white apron tied around his vast middle. His head was bald and his face so red he resembled a tomato. The man gestured at some stairs in a corner and began to lead the hobbits toward them. During this he never seemed to stop moving his mouth and every few seconds he would use a rag to wipe his shiny bald head.

Aiedale moved to follow, weaving her way around and through the men who did not even notice the invisible presence that passed by them. They did not sense her and that was the way she wanted it. Perhaps they felt a little shiver pass down their spine or sensed a small tremor in the air but many were too lost in merry-making and conversations with their neighbor to notice or consider that it was rather strange.

As Aiedale began to climb the stairs on silent feet she sensed a gaze. Turning her head ever so slightly she saw a dark shape of a man – or what looked to be a man – smoking a foul smelling pipe in a far corner. He was spread out on a chair but his posture, while relaxed, seemed all to ready to move like a cat might stretch out only to leap after a mouse a second later. His gaze was fixed firmly on her but she could not see his face for it was hidden by a thick black cloak. Yet she felt the weight of it and it made her uneasy.

Maybe, wondered the Shadowhunter, he could see her. With no way to confirm it and not wishing to test her luck in a place she knew nothing of against something that may nor not be human, Aiedale took the steps two at a time. She could do nothing about it right then but she could stay close to the hobbits and watch them just in case that man did prove to be an enemy. Regardless: he made her uneasy and she was not going to trust someone with such a grim, silent air to them.

She slipped into a door frame as the fat man bustled past. The hobbits had been given a small room – the last one available – at the far corner of the north wing of the inn. Following their faint voices, Aiedale pushed the door open and quickly closed it behind her. She found herself in a small and cozy room. There was a bit of a bright fire burning on the hearth and, in front of it, was a round table already spread with a white cloth. The four hobbits emerged from a door that, from what Aiedale could see led to a small bedroom where four neatly made beds awaited the weary hobbits.

Instinct made her look to the windows and she confirmed that they were not only well latched but that there was no way to climb up to them. Below was the stable yard and it was deserted. A distant rumble of thunder warned of approaching rain and Aiedale was grateful they were inside – for now. Meeting the wide-eyed stares of the hobbits she smiled ever so slightly and said, "This is alright."

"Yes," said Merry and he glanced around as though he found it homey enough to. Sam had been arguing, since entering Bree, to find a proper hobbit bed for the night with one of the hobbit families that lived on the hillside not far away. However, Frodo had refused on the grounds that Tom Bombadil, their host in the Old Forest, had told them The Prancing Pony was a neat little place that would be homey enough even for hobbits. Besides, he also guessed that it was at the Prancing Pony that he would find the most information about Gandalf. It was a busy hub and surely, he hoped, the wizard would be there just like he had promised.

As Merry fell silent, Pippen piped up with the question that all four hobbits wanted to ask but three of them weren't quite brave enough to. They had all been stealing their nerves to ask but only Pippen had the naïve innocence to actually do it. Perhaps he also guessed that she would less likely to snap at him because he did remind her of her youngest cousin.

"Why can't they see you?"

Aiedale sighed and pulled out one of the small chairs. She sank down into it and it seemed to her that each of her battle scars was making themselves known. Her head ached and she half-wondered if she needed another healing iratze or just sleep to remove the last of her injuries. Then there was the shadowed man downstairs that gave her warning tingles. Meeting the gaze of the hobbits, she gestured at the chairs and said quietly, "You should sit down. For I have questions for you to and we need to speak of this now."

The hobbits settled into their chairs and looked at her expectantly. They were, thought the young warrior, so different from anything she had ever met before. Not in a bad way and she was sure if she only met them at a dinner and never had to travel with them she might have enjoyed their company. As it was they merely made her already strained nerves come close to the breaking point. It was not something they did on purpose but the way their different viewpoint clashed with hers. However, now was not the time to think of such things and she had to try to think positively - at least until she could safely leave them behind and go home.

Gesturing at herself, she began. "I come from a very distant place and I do not know how I came here. Where I come from I am a warrior – someone who fights against darkness. I found myself in this…Middle Earth and not long after I met you." So far they seemed to be following her words and the meaning they contained. "I have no idea how to return or why I ended up here." Looking down at her gloved hands she continued in a soft voice that would be difficult to overhear, "Where I come from we have ways of hiding ourselves using 'glamours.' You know I am there so you can see me but others do not as so they think I am just a bit of empty air or something ordinary."

"Ah," said Frodo and it was clear that he and the others were struggling to accept what they were hearing. "I suppose you would like to know about Middle Earth then?"

Aiedale could have hugged him for being so quick on the uptake and reading both her and her situation so well. Maybe she had been incorrect in thinking that hobbits were completely oblivious to the outside world – this one certainly had understood and seen what she had been attempting to control. As it was Frodo had always had that skill about him and he saw the deep longing for information that she could not quite hide.

He condensed a summary of Middle Earth and its peoples to a lecture of ten minutes – a feat few could ever hope to manage. Aiedale was silent through this brief introduction to elves, which to her sound like fairies, the men and the dwarves as well as the foul monsters – namely orcs – that haunted some of the wild places. Then, after that, he informed her of his own mission to take the Ring, though he did not show her the small band, to Rivendell, home of the elf lord Elrond, and how Gandalf, a wizard, was supposed to help him.

After this brief and yet highly informative talk, a sudden idea struck Frodo. "Maybe Gandalf can help you," said Frodo thoughtfully. "He is a wizard and would know of such things." Sam nodded his head and both Merry and Pippen seemed to think that was the best idea for, they to, nodded.

"A wizard?" asked Aiedale doubtfully. She had a Shadowhunter's view of magic which was it was dark and dangerous. It was no transformation of rubber ducks to swans or flashing sparks but something to be respected and, sometimes, feared even by her. But this was a different land with 'elves' and many other things so maybe, just maybe, magic was different to and maybe wizards were a little like warlocks. She could deal with prickly warlocks and maybe, with some luck, she could deal with a wizard to.

"Yes," said Frodo, "he can perform magic and would be your best chance of returning home." The hobbit looked at the grim young woman and said, "But Butterbur said he was not here and that he has not been here for months. Without him I cannot reach Rivendell and complete my journey." His hand reflexively gripped the front of his jack where the ring lay underneath and he felt the same chill that the Black Riders inspired in him come back. The fear he felt – the idea that Gandalf was not here – was overwhelming and he wished that he had never come. That the Ring had stayed far away from him and Bilbo and that he had not had to risk the OldForest and then had to run to Bree.

"You cannot stay here long though," said Aiedale carefully. "If you are hunted then you must continue on and do your best." She looked down at her hands and felt as if the weight of all of this was slowly pushing her down and breaking her. "I will go with you regardless," she said firmly. It had not been her plan – she had wanted to leave them here and then go home but now…now it seemed she had to keep going with them and hope that this Gandalf person knew how to send her home. She could try a portal but how would a portal take her home if her home lay through dimensions? It was a stupid risk to take until she had explored this other option. The only way to explore it was to follow the hobbits. Simple. Easy. So not going to be any fun at all.

The hobbits looked at her with shocked faces and it was Sam who spoke, "Forgive me Miss but why?" A little color stained his cheeks and continued determinedly, "You do not seem like the kind of person who would want to get wrapped up in this."

Aiedale looked at him. She liked Sam – he was loyal and loyalty was counted as one of the greatest attributes a soldier like her could have. So she smiled warmly at him and said quietly, "Because I am a Shadowhunter and you need my help. It will help me get to this Gandalf and I can rest easy knowing I did not abandon you." She ran a hand over the perfectly white table cloth and suddenly she wanted a bath. To remove the dried blood, the dirt and sweat would be the sweetest of joys right then and it might help ease the soreness in her muscles.

The hobbits did not know what to say to these words and so rather awkwardly Merry said, "I will ask for some dinner to be brought here. I don't relish the idea of eating downstairs."

"Nor should you," said Aiedale, "you must stay quiet and leave just as quietly." Rising from the small table that came to just below her waist, the young woman made her way to the small attached bedroom while Merry went off to ask for dinner and the other three busied themselves with their packs.

There was, to her relief, a wash basin with some lukewarm water, a bar of strange smelling soap and some relatively soft towels. Making sure the door was closed she let herself consider how it might feel to be sort of clean. Undoing her braid she let her auburn hair fall around her while she removed her gloves, weapons and then her black gear. Once she was down to the thin blue shirt she wore underneath and her bra she took a moment to examine herself critically in the mirror that hung above the wash basin.

The face that looked back at her was very pale and the exhaustion was plain in it. Her hair was filthy and smudges of dirt stood out against her pale complexion like bruises. Her shirt was stained with blood from the wound she had been dealt and it stuck to her in the most unpleasant of ways. Pushing the locks of thick hair back she pulled her shirt off and examined her ribs but found them healed as well as the bruises. It still ached but that would fade soon enough.

However, even though the chance to wipe herself down was more than appreciated, Aiedale did think longingly of her room back at the Institute. She wanted a shower with steaming hot water, her favorite lavender shampoo and soap along with some moisturizer after. Then she would like a mundane sized bed with downy soft sheets and be able to sleep for a week with no interruption or glimpse of a hobbit. However, that was unlikely to happen at this point and so, with a irritated sigh and a glowering expression to her face, Aiedale began to wash herself off.

By the time she was finished the water was black and the towels should probably have been thrown out. Pulling her shirt back on and then her gear she carefully replaced her weapons. She felt better after that. More alive and ready to cope even though she knew that, soon, she would probably need to confront it all and sort out of all the implications. She could only hope that sorting everything out would not require her to explain anything more to hobbits and that she would not burst into frustrated tears.

Leaving the small room she found the hobbits just sitting down to a dinner that had been brought in by Nob, a hobbit who worked at the Inn. The sight of the food – good and hearty food – made her smile despite herself. She had been ignoring just how hungry she actually was and now…well now she was all too eager to tuck into the small feast.

"You will have to use our traveling utensils," said Frodo apologetically. "It sounded strange to ask for a plate for another person when there were only four of us."

"That is just fine," said Aiedale as she pulled up a spare chair that was placed beside the crackling fire place. Nothing more was said as both hobbits and Shadowhunter demolished the excellent food that the Prancing Pony was famous for. In her brief look outside she had seen a well cared for vegetable plot and so, she guessed, that the roast potatoes, carrots and onions were from there. It was, she decided, very much like being back in Idris and that, right then, was a comforting thought. Alicante would always been home and both she and her younger brother had not only a house in the city but a country house not far from the city. Both houses were rarely visited now and she thought longingly of the gardens that surrounded the large country home where she had spent most of her early childhood. Thinking of the fair city with its elegant houses and the green countryside was not only comforting but it added to her determination to make her way home. This Gandalf had better have answers or she would be in one foul mood.

As the hobbits leaned back – satisfied – Aiedale decided it was time to make some sort of plan. She was growing very tired now that her hunger had been eased and the warm fire was sending welcome warmth across her. Forcing her sleepiness away, the young woman leaned forward ever so slightly and said, "Now what?"

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo. He to was trying to stay awake to and think, now that he was in Bree, what do to without the assistance of Gandalf.

"What will you do now?" asked Aiedale as she glanced out the window and then back to the door. She was closest to the door and, as she spoke, she watched it and the small crack just in case someone – namely that black stranger downstairs – was eavesdropping. "Your friend, Gandalf, is not here and you have no way of knowing when he might come here if at all."

Merry leaned forward now, "We could spend a few days." He was thinking of more dinners like this one and it was easier to be brave when the Black Riders were out of sight and one's belly full.

"No," said Aiedale sharply, "you say you are hunted by things that are stronger then you. Wasting time in a village full of humans is one of the stupidest things you could do." She looked to Frodo briefly and said softly, "Who knows? Maybe there are spies for your enemies downstairs or watching the village. The sooner you slip out the better." The thunder rumbled again. As the distant roar died down, Aiedale opened her mouth to speak again when a sound stopped her. It was a sound so soft that the hobbits did not hear it and so did not understand her reaction. However, with her sensitive hearing and senses that, despite her sleepiness, were all too ready to sense danger, she caught it.

She heard the sound of someone, with very quiet feet, walking down the hall outside. The faint vibration in the floorboards made her tense and, before the hobbits could speak, she raised one finger to her lips in the universal gesture for 'be quiet!' Turning her head ever so slightly she looked to the door and saw a flicker in the light that sneaked under the crack – someone had come to a stop outside and she had the feeling it was that man from downstairs. Butterbur could not move so quietly nor could the pleasant servant, Nob, who had brought dinner to the hobbits while she was washing off.

Aiedale stood. The chair was well made and sturdy; it did not creak nor shift as she did so and that allowed her to move on silent feet to the side of the door. Meanwhile, sitting petrified in their seats, the hobbits watched her. They watched as the young woman changed from relaxed to as tense as drawn bow string with no obvious sign of danger. Yet, for they had come to trust her, they sat quietly and waited for her to either relax or tell them why she had gone so warrior-like on them. There was nothing of the girl who had laughed lightly with them over dinner as Merry and Pippen made a few jokes about Butterbur and his inn. Now she resembled the girl in the forest – the girl who looked like she could kill a person without a second thought.

A knock – a firm knock – sounded on the wood of the door and the hobbits felt their hearts leap into their mouths at the unexpected noise. They had heard no one approach nor suspected that they might be visited that night and so, frightened, they turned back to Aiedale. Thoughts of Black Riders and knife wielding spies were suddenly at the forefront of their minds. Suddenly they were quite glad that they had Aiedale and that she, it seemed, was more than prepared to deal with whatever threat might pounce through that door the second it was opened.

Aiedale stretched out one hand and then, with one hand resting on the handle od her kindjal, she opened the door.

* * *

_**As much as I love writing this story I am not sure I will continue it...I would like to thank those who have looked at it but it does not seem to be something people want to read. Thank you for reading it and I hope you have enjoyed these chapters but I really don't want to put a lot of effort or time into a story that people are not interested in reading...maybe that will change or maybe I will keep posting because I do enjoy writing this story. **_

_**Thank you! **_


	4. Chapter 4

He was standing on the landing just outside the door which led, he had guessed, to the room the hobbits had been given by Butterbur. The hallway was lit only by lanterns every few feet and they cast flickering shadows across the walls and on the floor. The wooden door was shut and yet, through it, he thought he heard the soft murmur of quiet voices though they had fallen silent just moments before he had stopped. Behind him the sounds of men drinking and singing filtered up the stairs.

Aragorn son of Arathorn, Cheiftan of the Dunedain, adopted son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Heir of Islidur was on a mission. His long-time friend and ally, Gandalf the Grey, had asked him to help these hobbits get to Rivendell and so he would despite the burden they carried, his own feelings of weakness and the haunting darkness that searched for not only the Ring of Power, carried by Frodo Baggins, but he, Aragorn.

It had impressed him a little that they had stayed in their room and not come downstairs like he thought they would. Caution, he knew all to well from his time spent patrolling the Shire, was not something found very often among hobbit folk. However, he was still uneasy. He had thought he had seen a dark shadow slip up the stairs behind them and he had almost followed them right then had it not been that the shadow of a small figure had vanished almost instantly after he had noticed it and he doubted his own eyes.

Pushing back the hood of his thick black cloak, he raised a gloved hand and knocked firmly against the door. For a long moment there was no sound and then, without warning, the door was opened. Aragorn found himself looking into a pleasant room where four hobbits sat around a table. The remains of their dinner were still before them and they had a stunned and rather frightened look to them. His eyes fell on the black haired one, Frodo Baggins, and he wondered, as he had when he had first seen them, why there were three more. Surely Gandalf had cautioned the young hobbit that it was best to travel silently and with as few companions as possible? Not only that but leading four hobbits through the wilderness was going to be an interesting challenge he was not sure he was ready for.

Stepping inside he opened his mouth to speak a greeting – anything to break the very strange air in the room – but he never got far.

In fact, he froze as the all too familiar feeling of a blade at his throat made him freeze.

It was a cold blade. A cold blade held by a slim fingered gloved hand that belonged to a slender young woman with rusty auburn hair and cool jade green eyes. There was an icy look to her. Her face was taut with a discipline he'd never seen in a young woman. Her face, her eyes, spoke of surety and grim determination that was both terribly unsettling and sad. There was nothing young about this girl – she had the look of someone who had seen all the darkness the world had to offer and battled with it. The way she held the blade, the way she looked at him and the way the cold blade rested against his throat were practiced and preformed with an instinctive ease that spoke of years of such actions. She looked at him with those cool eyes and he felt goose bumps spread across his skin – she was not normal. Not normal at all.

Just as Aragorn studied her, the Shadowhunter studied him. What she saw hardly made her trust him or want to lower her knife. He had a well-traveled look to him and was definitely mundane or her Sensor, hidden in a pocket, would have let her know. He was also rather handsome in a rugged, mundane sort of way which only made her want to wrinkle her nose in disgust. In fact he smelled like he had never had a bath – or if he had it had been far too long ago. His eyes were shuttered and wary with a look as if he had seen many thinks and done many things. The air about him was grim and silent – a warrior's air she recognized. A fighter but he was still mundane and she did not trust those who could break promises so easily. He was also hooded and cloaked – his weapons, from what ones she could see, well used and beautifully crafted.

"Who are you?" she asked coldly. Her glamour no longer hid her for she had swiftly shed herself of it when she had taken her place by the door. She knew just from her quick observations that he was not someone to just let go and hope they didn't attack you – in her weakened state this strange mundane might just over power her.

"I am called Strider," said Aragorn, "and I wish to speak to you and your companions. I bring word from a mutual friend. I have things to say which might be to your advantage." He stood very still and watched the young woman's inscrutable face for any sign that she would either believe his words or decide to end his life. The hobbits were forgotten as they two at the door gazed silently at each other.

Aiedale did not know what to do. So, she broke the staring contest with the man and looked to Frodo. The young hobbit seemed unable to find anything to say and he met her gaze with wide, unsure eyes. He had never seen her like this - never seen anyone look like this. He had never looked into someone's eyes and felt as if they were looking through him as if she was blind to everything but what she choose to see. His voice seemed to have stopped working. However, Frodo was able to muster some courage and asked quietly, "What do you want to say?" He knew he had to speak, if only to make sure that this stranger did not die that night.

The knife was still very much at his neck and Aragorn almost, not quite, but almost, fumbled his next words – a mistake he was certain later may have ended the conversation with his death. "I have been looking for a hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted to find him quickly for I had learned from Gandalf the Grey that he was in need of assistance carrying a secret that not only concerns me but those you carry it to. You match the description that was given to me and I take care of the secrets given to me. The shadows are haunted by enemies and Black horseman ride openly. They search for you and your burden."

Frodo was gazing at them and a quick glance showed that the young woman showed no sign of lowering her blade. Finally the hobbit spoke, "How do I know you are friend? And why did Gandalf send you?"

At the moment there was the sound of heavy footsteps and breaths coming from the hall. Aiedale looked at the ranger and then she made a choice. Removing her knife from his throat she hit him hard without warning across the back and sent him stumbling forward and towards a chair left by the fire. "Sit," she snapped at him and it was an order delivered with a wave of her gleaming runed blade. Meanwhile the glamour she had removed was quickly drawn on like a pair of favorite gloves and she slunk back into the shadows of the door which she slipped shut as the footsteps grew closer.

Aragorn understood her plan and so, his back to the door and hidden by the back of the chair, he was left vulnerable and yet also hidden just in case. He felt distinctly uncomfortable not being able to see who was coming but he had to trust not only the hobbits but the odd little girl.

A knock came at the door. Mr. Butterbur had arrived with candles, and behind him was Nob who swiftly removed the plates from the table and vanished as silently as he had come with only a small smile in the hobbit's direction. "I've come to bid you good night," said the landlord, putting the candles on the table. "And to apologize because I'm a busy man and sometimes things slip my mind. You see, I was asked to look out for hobbits of the Shire, and for one by the name of Baggins in particular." The man looked at him hard and asked hopefully, "Your name wouldn't happen to be Baggins would it?"

Frodo started a little at the sound of his name and warily said, "Why were you asked to look for me?"

A look of relief crossed Butterbur's thick face and he smiled a little as if a great weight – that he had forgotten was there – had just been lifted. "Gandalf left a letter for you in my care. A wizard they say he is, but he's a good friend of mine, whether or no. He's a bit hasty but he left for you a letter and I was supposed to post it the very next day but," the man paused and wrung his hands nervously before finding his voice. "I forgot. One thing after another drove it from my mind and I never managed to find anyone to take it either. However, if there's any help I can give, you've to name it." The man paused again and then continued in his breathy, mile-a-minute voice.

"Leaving the letter aside he did tell me that you would be going by the name Underhill and I was not to ask any questions. And if I'm not with him, he may be in trouble, and he may need help. Do whatever you can for him. And here you are, but trouble seems to have left you alone." Then, he drew in a deep breath and said a touch slower and in a very low voice, "But the Black Riders have been by and they have been looking for a 'Baggins.' They've been asking the same question all the way to Archet I hear. And that Ranger, Strider he's been asking questions too. Trouble may not be far behind you now."

"Thank you," said Frodo with a small smile that made the land lord relax a little in the face of hobbit manners. "May I have the letter? We shall be leaving early tomorrow and I beg of you to forget the name Baggins."

"I can do that," said the land lord, "Me and my folk'll keep watch tonight; but you had best get some sleep if you can." At last Mr. Butterbur went out and never did he notice the ranger in the chair by the fire or the shadow of a girl in the dark corner. He went out and never realized just how close he had come to fate and a quest that would either save him and precious inn or destroy it.

Aiedale waited until the door was closed to slip over to Frodo. The glamour fell away from her as she left the shadows and, with one eye on the silent ranger who watched them, she asked. "What does it say?" Frodo looked carefully at the seal before he broke it. It certainly seemed to be Gandalf's and it was written in the wizard's strong but graceful script.

Frodo read it silently with Aiedale looking over his shoulder, and then he passed it to Pippen and Sam who read it with Merry. "Butterbur really does deserves Gandalf's roasting," said Frodo. "Yet Gandalf writes as if he going into great danger."

"He has been doing that for many years," said Strider.

"He mentions you," said Frodo candidly. "If you are who Gandalf's says you might be then you can be trusted."

"I know more of your pursuers then you do," said the ranger from the chair he was sitting in. "I can get you to Rivendell safely by paths that are seldom trodden. Tomorrow you must make your escape but you will not get far. They will come on you in the wild and there will be no one to save you." The hobbits looked at him and saw that his face was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. The light seemed to have dimmed and his eyes seemed to walking in distant memory or as if he was listening to sounds of the night far away.

It was Aiedale who broke it, "They will have me." Her voice cracked like a whip through the air and it seemed then that she changed to. She seemed taller – stronger and more dangerous then ever before. She turned her gaze on the ranger, "They will have me and I do not fear the shadows." There was a cold determination in that voice that shook the ranger from his thoughts and made him gaze at her with something close to wonder at her brave words.

"You cannot stand alone against them," said Aragorn firmly. "No one can."

Aiedale raised a slanted eyebrow and resisted the urge to say, firstly, that he was mundane so of course he couldn't and that, secondly, she had stood alone against much fouler things. No. She would wait and surprise him, decided the young warrior with an almost gleeful leap of her heart. There was something rather fun in concealing it all and then surprising this irritating man.

Sam was not daunted by the words or the air that floated with unknowable power, "How do we know you are not a different person though? You might be play-acting!" The little hobbit stuck out his chin a little and tried to look determined but managed, in Aiedale's opinion, just to look foolish. That was not how one went about pulling the truth out of people, unless she decided, one was a hobbit.

"Let me tell you this Sam Gamgee," answered Aragorn, "my only answer is this. If I had killed the real Strider, I could kill you. I would have already killed you. If I was after the Ring, I could have it now!" He stood up, allowing them to see him unmasked as he truly was. Despite the keen and noble light that suddenly glittered around him as well as the long black sword at his side, Aiedale could barely contain a small laugh.

"Really?" she asked and she found the surprise in the man's eyes to be incredibly satisfying. "That is the best you can do?" Her own gaze sharpened and one hand fell back to the hilt of her kindjal that was just visible against the black of her gear.

There was a long silence. Neither Aragorn nor the hobbits knew what to say but Frodo was determined – if not to prevent someone from being killed then to at least move along in the conversation. "So you wish to come with us?"

"Yes," said Aragorn with a quick glance at Aiedale who was watching him. "I am Aragorn. All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost."

"So those verses apply to you," said Frodo with a quick glance at the letter and then he met the Ranger's gaze. "When did you last see Gandalf?"

"Too long ago," said Aragorn and he felt the worry he had been smothering for his friend, leap forward again. "I met him in May and he told me of your journey but I was off on business of my own. It was only recently that I heard from the Elven-folk of Gildor that you had left your home but horsemen rode abroad and Gandalf was missing." Looking to the window briefly Argorn continued on another subject. "Tomorrow we will leave early. It is a long way to Rivendell and the Enemies are relentless in their search."

"I'm sorry," said Pippen, "but I am dead tired." He smiled apologetically and glanced towards the bedroom where a comfortable mattress was calling.

He might have gone to bed and the others would have followed had it not been for Aiedale's Sensor. The little device buzzed lightly against her side and sent an immediate warning jolt through her. One hand flew to the hidden device but she did not need to look at it know that it was warning her of demonic action. Walking to the window she glanced out and, with eyesight made keen by runes, saw what not even a mortal such as Aragorn would have been able to see.

A black shadow – vaguely human in shape – was creeping along on the street below heading towards the gate. She drew back a little as it glanced upwards and then continued to slink away. There was nothing human about it at all. Aiedale barely contained her soft curse and, instead, settled for a small hiss. Aragorn drew up beside her and asked quietly, "What did you see?"

Aiedale did not say anything. She was looking down at the shadows and then she glanced towards the sky. A thunderstorm had skirted around them and the occasional distant flash of lightning illuminated the sky but did little to ease the thick shadows around the buildings. "There is something out there," murmured Aiedale. "Something dark."

"The Riders," breathed out the Aragorn as fear stirred in his heart. "We must leave this place."

"For where?" demanded Merry from his place. "Surely they would not attack the inn!"

"My room," said Aragorn. "Quickly now. For they may not attack a house where there are lights and many people but their power is in terror and already some in Bree are in their clutch." Turning swiftly on one heel he looked to the silent Shadowhunter who had not moved from her place at the window and then back to the hobbits. "Gather your things and let us be gone from this place."

* * *

As the hobbits settled down and fell easily to sleep in the single, man-sized bed that was tucked away in a small, back room in the Bree inn, darkness began to spread. A mist strayed along and things fell unnaturally silent. A brooding threat that chilled the living things of the world and sent Aiedale Darklighter on edge despite exhaustion and the confused events of her life. She stood at the side of the window and watched the world with the quiet patience of a Shadowhunter as they ready themselves to fight. Beside her, unwelcome, was the Ranger who sat alert and ready in a chair.

As she watched the night, he split his time between watching the world outside and the strange young woman who stood, so still, beside the window.

The night deepened. The cold hours coming closer towards midnight where the moon is only just beginning to send out its cold light.

The sound of hooves came from the street below. Aiedale tensed and Strider stood beside her. They both looked down and saw, coming up the street, nine riders on nine black horses. The muffled sound of the hooves echoing faintly in the fog that seemed to follow the Nazgul. At an invisible signal the horses came to a stop and the Riders dismounted. A little f the moonlight fell across unsheathed blades glinted with deadly warning. They vanished into the shadows of the now silent inn.

Aiedale had to restrain her impulse to sneak down to that part of the inn and find out exactly what the strange creatures were up to. She was protected by runes from their deadly chill and had a natural curiosity to learn more about these obviously foul creatures. To her they were threats that needed to be eliminated not the terrifying beasts that most normal mundanes thought of them as. Instead, she turned to the Ranger and asked, "What are they?"

Before the mundane could answer her she heard the most awful noise. It was a high, shrill cry. A cry as unbearable as nails being raked down a blackboard. Even Aiedale felt chilled fear try to settle inside of her as she recalled every bad moment, every bit of defeat and grief she had ever experienced as if all of those memories were caught up in one terrible cry. Not even some of he demons she had fought before could equal that cry nor could the sounds of battle or people dying violent deaths. It reminded her of bad things – of friends dying, of the war fought against Valentine and the times when she had failed. Aiedale kept herself still by shear force of will and, instead, dug her fingers into the wood of the window sill. Frodo had sat up in the bed – his face white with fear. Beside him the other hobbits were gripping each other tightly.

Below the shadow shapes remounted their black horses and galloped away as quietly as they had come. Their blades held high.

"They were once men," said Aragorn as he pulled out the pipe he kept on himself at all times. Remembering the story of the Nine never failed to bring darkness and his own worries of failure to the front of his mind. "Great Kings of Men, then Sauron the Deceiver gave them the Nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed they took them and fell into shadow. Now they serve him and ever do they search for the One Ring." He stopped and lit the pipe before continuing, "They are tireless in their search."

Aiedale rolled her eyes for, despite being shaken by the cry of the creatures, she was not going to be intimidated by all this talk of Kings and shadow. "What do they fear?"

Aragorn started slightly at the question and turned to look at the girl. "They fear fire and light," he said as he puffed a little on the pipe. "They fear love and laughter, the things that struggle to survive when darkness covers the land."

Aiedale could not stop the smirk that twisted across her face. She had been right then in her first assumption that, if she did encounter them, she would either fire or a particularly strong witchlight. Aiedale did not pay attention as the hobbits settled back into their bed nor did she look again at the Ranger who was now filling the air with his foul pipe smoke. Instead she looked around and found that the only chair was conveniently placed in a corner and well away from both the Ranger and the door though she could see both. She settled into the silence and began to think, for the first time, of all that had happened to her.

* * *

It was past midnight and yet Aiedale could not let go of herself enough to trust the Ranger enough to sleep in his presence and nor would her thoughts have let her even if she had tried. There was the practical aspect to – the only bed was full of hobbits and she had already decided the floor was too dirty to sleep on.

The street outside was dark and no more of the Black Riders had been seen since their last appearance. The silence lay heavy on the town and some might have found it stifling and taken it as a warning but not Aiedale. She liked the silence and the way it gave her the time to actually think. To her silence was a good thing and even if it was the cold silence left by the Black Riders it was better then the noise which mundanes like to fill the day and night with.

She wanted to cry but, for her pride would not let it, no tears would come when the Ranger was sitting so close and, she knew, his hearing was sharp enough to catch even the slightest sniffle she might let loose. Had she been alone she would have cried and wondered what she would do. She would have let all her emotions go and sat there, crying, not caring any longer about duty or logic. Such experiences – even one as unheard of as this one – were part of her life. To expect the unexpected and cope with it was part of Shadowhunter life. However, never before had everything weighed so much on her. There was anguish to. She was lost here with no immediate return to her comrades and, most importantly, her brother. That she, who had fought in many battles and upheld the mantle of being not only a Nephilim but a Darklighter as well, was somehow in another dimension that was not her own. It was a shadow that passed across her and for a moment, a brief moment, she felt hot tears prick her eyes as it all suddenly became too much for her to bear.

A second later she pulled it back in. She had allowed the anguish, the pounding homesickness and longing to know, if not how, then why she had ended up here, to consume her. Those few seconds her entire body had seem to be frozen with the power of those emotions and her own exhaustion making everything seem twice as worse as it actually was. However, Aiedale was a Shadowhunter and few are as disciplined as a Nephilim in controlling their emotions and thoughts. They have to be – too much rests on their ability to think clearly and logically in all situations. It was one of the first lessons taught to a young Shadowhunter and Aiedale had learned it earlier then most with the death of her parents. She had lost much in her short life but so had everyone who was proud and brave enough to call themselves Nephilim. Loss and death were part of her world – a necessary evil and test of one's strength.

So, she took a step back from both her emotions and her own fragile mental state. With some distance she examined what she did know for that was far more then she had known a few hours ago. Aiedale ordered the information with an almost obsessive determination as if, by listing what she did know not only about Middle Earth but its inhabitants and the little quest she was caught up in, she would find some hidden meaning. She had just come to the end of her list and was considering that maybe, now after reaching the end and finding some kind of balance between herself, it might be a good idea to consider possible questions, that the Ranger spoke.

"You should sleep," his voice was as soft as a feather floating to the ground and, she realized, he was gazing at her. His eyes, so hard before, had an almost gentle look to them and he had the look of an elder addressing a young child. It grated against her and, yet, this man had been nothing but mild-mannered and polite with her while she had held a knife to his throat and challenged him. He had been insistent with the hobbits but so had she. There was the diplomatic part of her which was telling her very sternly to build a connection – she would need this man's help to not only safely see the hobbits on their way but find this Gandalf. This 'Gandalf' was her only lead home right then and worthy of further investigation.

"So should you," was her brief reply that was spoken in a voice just a fraction degree warmer then her previous frost. He smiled slightly and turned back to the window, silent and still like a watcher of the night.

"Why are you with the hobbits?" he said from his seat by the window. "Gandalf made no mention of you when I spoke with him."

Aiedale was silent. She could say any number of things but, it was clear from not only her accent but her clothes and manners that she was from nowhere close to this place – so a lie would be easy to find out and, besides, lying did not sit well with her. So, settling for a half-truth, she said coolly, "They met me and I met them."

Aragorn glanced at her and, despite himself; he found that he rather admired her. The hobbits were innocent to the full implications of their situation – as he had expected they would be – but this girl was their opposite. She had sensed he was on the other side of the door. She had gotten the hobbits to Bree and she had been far from frightened by the Black Riders. It was that, her apparent lack of fear in the face of such terrors, which had thrown Aragorn so. No one – including him – was foolish or brave enough to take for granted such creatures of darkness. But, apparently, this girl felt none of that nor seemed to be at all affected by their chilling auras. She had asked what they feared - how one defeated them. Those were questions no seventeen year old should either want to ask or have to ask in Aragorn's opinion.

"What is your name?" he asked. The hobbits had not said what it was and, as the night dragged on, he found himself wanting to know just who he was sharing these hours with. He watched as she turned her shadowed face a little. He could see very little of her for the shadows were thick and she had chosen a corner that was particularly heavy with them.

"Darklighter," was the unemotional reply spoken by that lilting accent that was foreign to him. Wherever she came from it was far away and he had never been there. "Why don't you tell me yours?" he heard a small bit of sarcastic mirth in those words and grimaced slightly beneath his hood.

She was right thought the Ranger – why trust him with her name when she knew so little and apparently was so guarded herself? Looking back down at the empty street he said quietly, "It will be an honor to travel with you Darklighter." He looked back at her and saw those cool jade green eyes were studying him. They were strange eyes – old and guarded but also glimmering with curiosity and interest to. She was an oddity. Her slender, almost fragile, build belied the skill with which she had pushed him towards the chair. There was a proud look to her to – the kind of pride that comes from beating the odds and surviving. Her accent and manner of speech were also unlike anything he had ever come across before and he was beginning to suspect she was from nowhere one could reach by normal means. He had thought, as he watched the hobbits take the stairs earlier that evening, that there was something following them but what it was he did not know. Now, he half-wondered if it had been this girl though how she had managed to be invisible was beyond him and raised too many dark questions.

"I know you do not trust me," he said quietly. "But I urge you to sleep for a little while. I give you my word that no harm will come to you or to the hobbits." He met her gaze with all the earnest sincerity he could muster.

Aragorn's quiet words and honesty, for she could see the honesty in his cool grey eyes, were surprising to the young warrior. For, despite everything, she could not help but be grateful that Strider was there. No longer was it just her keeping the hobbits from harm's way and, while he still might prove to be untrustworthy, he had been true so far and informative to. And she began, for the first time, to feel a little lucky that he was there with her for, as she had come to see, he was the closest thing to a Shadowhunter she was likely to find in this dimension. He seemed to be capable for his very attitude towards the demons was one of a professional sizing up a situation. She may not make friends with mundanes – she had never before – but this was a good ally and allies were important no matter if you were in your own world or not. Besides, she did not want to be alone in a place as foreign as this one was.

"Thank you," she said in a voice that was a little warmer then before. With that she turned her face away from him until it was completely covered in shadows and a thick silence descended on the room. The ranger had nothing to say but the new warmth in her chilled tones had given him a little hope that they may be on their way to becoming, if not friends, then allies able to work together. He did not relish the idea of having this strange girl watching his every move as he worried she might thrust a knife into his back.

So they sat in silence as the stars turned, the hobbits slumbered on and their enemies moved through the night. The two, a Ranger and a Shadowhunter, watched the silent world together and wondered about the other and why fate had brought them together in such a way.

* * *

**_Well this chapter is for those of you who reviewed and favorited it - thank you! It made me very happy! :)_**

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	5. Chapter 5

The group of four hobbits, one Ranger and one Shadowhunter left before dawn when the mist still clung to the ground and only a faint light to the east gave any sign that the sun was on its way up. A warm breakfast had been provided by an anxious Butterbur who had been rather flummoxed to see, not only Strider at the table, but be asked for another set of dishes when there was only five there. Yet he knew better to ask questions and he was especially less inclined considering that the room the hobbits had been staying in was completely demolished. The Black Riders had slashed the pillows, overturned the beds and destroyed everything so thoroughly that, when one opened the door, one was met by a cloud of white feathers. Not only that but all the horses and ponies had been so frightened that they had gotten loose and not one seemed to be anywhere close by. It seemed that the Riders had enjoyed the help of more than one human accomplice for the doors on the stalls had been unlatched and halters snapped.

Neither pony nor horse was to be found for hire and, while one was trying to be found, the hobbits had insisted upon a large, hot breakfast that Butterbur provided with the ease of a host well acquainted with pulling food from seemingly nowhere. The Ranger had rolled his eyes and disappeared with Nob to try and find one, leaving a concealed Aiedale – who had yet to tell the Ranger of her glamour – to watch the hobbits. Finally, with a little luck, a pony was dug up from some farmer called 'Bill Ferny.' Aiedale had been less than impressed with the little thing for it was mangy and half-starved but she said nothing for she was anxious to be gone. According to Sam the creature was not ready to die yet but Aiedale was not so sure.

The sight of the pony, sad and sorry as it was, had reminded the young warrior of her own horse that awaited her in the stables of Alicante. All Shadowhunter families had one for when they visited the Glass City and hers was a fiery bay mare. She missed her for the last time she had been in the city was after the battle with Valentine and the celebration. Duty had called and there was no time for her to linger in the elegant city while demons walked the streets of Paris nor time for her to enjoy a good gallop in the meadows of the fair country. After the celebration she had quickly left and settled back into the routine that had been disrupted by Valentine's move against the Clave.

At last, with supplies hurriedly found and packed they took their leave of Butterbur and Nob. The hobbits were anxious and downhearted as they set off with the company of this strange man and even the presence of Aiedale did little to cheer them. They had seen another side of the girl and it had unsettled them. It had made them feel as if they were treading a dangerous line and half-wondered what might set off the young woman. As if all this was not enough to deal with, they were off into the unknown and hobbits did not like the unknown at all. With a girl only they and the ranger seemed to be able to see and who asked them to call her 'Darklighter' and nothing else, they felt as nervous and uncomfortable as it was possible to feel. Frodo could understand, for he was the only one of the hobbits to have truly felt and seen darkness, but he was weary of such secrecy and the heavy burden that the ring had become. So, just like his three companions, he merely nodded nervously and walked quietly from the small town.

While the hobbits nursed their dark thoughts, Aiedale was continuing her habit of observing everything from the still dark houses to the countryside that opened up beyond the gates. She was trying to learn as much as she could without actually asking and, one of her favorite things to quietly observe from the corner of her eye was their new guide. She could see just why the name 'Strider' had settled on their new traveling companion. He did not walk through the streets of Bree with them following behind, but rather march like a commander before his army. Each long stride – worth three or four of the hobbits – was purposeful and radiated a kind of controlled confidence that Aiedale admired a little.

Their early departure had also provided a certain amount of secrecy and protection from curious stares or murmured words spoken behind hands. Aiedale did not yet trust that her glamour did work in this dimension and, if it did not, she did not think she could have put up with stares or rude remarks for she had little sleep with which to ease her currently snappy temper. Shadowhunters may operate on little to no sleep but sometimes, like everyone, they need it and Aiedale had been running on little more then adrenalin. A few brief hours caught the previous night had done little to soothe her fried nerves and, like all Shadowhunters, she hated it when mundanes stared at her for being dressed and armed like she was. To her they should be grateful that she walked among them and not hate or fear her merely because she was Nephilim and they ordinary mundanes.

From what she had been able to understand the ranger wanted to take them into the wild where he could steer a straight course to the elf haven they were traveling to. Aiedale had yet to see an accurate map but, from what Frodo told her, the place they were traveling to was real and the ranger moved with such confidence down the path he had chosen that the young Shadowhunter did not doubt he knew what he was doing.

Aiedale was not dressed for the chill morning air. Her gear was not designed for warmth but for battle and so, while padded, it did little to ward off the cold air. Yet, despite her cold fingers, she was feeling a little hopeful and her mood was a little lighter. They had made it through the night and were safely on their way. Despite the Riders who no doubt waited for them somewhere along the road and the hobbits apparent lack of any practical skills. Despite the questions that needed answering and her lingering exhaustion - Aiedale felt rather hopeful. Middle Earth was not a place she would ever want to visit again but it was not too bad as long as she had a way out of it. Hopefully this warlock did have the answers she sought and with any luck it would be long before she was once more beside her cousins and brother in the streets of Paris hunting demons and rouge Downworlders.

She was also still alive. The little charges she had pledged herself to were also alive and, if one of those black shadows did find them…a smirk curled the young warrior's lips as she considered what those Riders might think of a seraph blade planted firmly in their non-existent heart. So, with a smirk on her face and her feet making no sound on the frosted ground, she followed the hobbits and the Ranger who was leading them into the Wild. According to this 'Strider' they were eighteen days from Rivendell and, for she was rather pessimistic, Aiedale had no doubt that something would go wrong – something always did. They had left the town behind now and charted a course that would help put off pursuit for it turned and doubled so much that it confused even the young warrior who walked behind. The Wild of Arda lay before them now.

* * *

Aiedale had, by mid morning, decided that traveling with hobbits was the most trying experience of her entire life. They were noisy, tiresome and seemed to not understand that you did not have to constantly chat about home or various relatives who all sounded exactly like the four hobbits she was traveling with. Their peppy little voices reminded her of annoying little pixies and she was tempted, more than once, of pulling out a knife and threatening them with disembowelment. It was only through sheer will power that she reined in her temper and settled for a dark scowl. Her mood, once lit by hope and determination, had fallen to an all time low and she muttered curses in Latin about traveling companions, shadow demons and this bloody annoying world. Sometimes, unable to help herself, she would pick a pebble from the ground and throw it hard at a tree to vent her frustration.

To Aiedale the crowning moment had been when the hobbits pulled out pots and pans, sat down and obviously prepared to make a meal. The Shadowhunter had been so amazed and stunned that she had not been able to find any scathing remark with which to fling at the hobbits. When Aragorn, who appeared as shocked as she was, had asked what the hobbits were doing in an incredulous voice, the answer had been both terribly funny and terribly annoying. According to them they were making their 'second breakfast' and Pippen had been most horrified to find that they would not be able to indulge in such frequent meal times. In fact, to Aiedale's way of thinking, if one ate so much and so frequently one would merely spend all their time traveling from kitchen to table.

Her overall irritation seemed to amuse the ranger and that only served to make Aiedale's optimistic view vanish like fog in sunlight all the sooner. His knowing smirk, sent her way during a brief break, had made her clench her teeth and recite, in her mind, all the reasons killing a mundane was wrong. She had wondered if hobbits counted as mundane to and, if the next time Pippen asked her an annoying question, she would be wrong to throttle him. The previous day the hobbits had been to cowed by her to speak this much but now…now all they seemed to do, excluding the silent Frodo, was talk and talk. In fact, Aiedale doubted that the young, black haired hobbit had slept much at all the previous night for he had the grim look of someone moving on little sleep and he was no Shadowhunter trained to endure past physical limitations. The shadows under his eyes were dark and his mouth set in a hard line that looked wrong on his kind, inquisitive face.

A brief lunch was followed by more walking and, as they became tired, the hobbits started to become quieter and, as the silences stretched out for longer periods, Aiedale felt a little more forgiving and less likely to snap at any moment as the silence began to soothe her. She still walked behind and tried to eliminate the traces of their path while the ranger walked in front. Her focus was devoted entirely to their surroundings and, occasionally, she would tune in when the ranger spoke of their destination. As the sun dipped to the horizon and the shadows lengthened her mood lightened a little from the black pit it had fallen into. One day closer and the night was her friend even if it was a strange night and haunted by strange things.

The pattern continued for three days. They moved steadily eastwards and past through Chetwood and turned away from the Road. Aiedale and the ranger split the night between them and neither spoke to the other unless they were forced to. Neither quite knew what to say and neither trusted the other enough to speak openly. The uncomfortable silence did not go unnoticed by the hobbits and it made them feel very awkward and out of place to be between these two people who did not trust each other. It did not bother Aiedale for, to her, she was being quite reasonable with the mundane. She was not openly showing her hostility but trusting him – something she did not do lightly – as he led her and the hobbits through the wilderness.

Aragorn, it has to be said, was willing to make friends with this girl but had been constantly rebuffed by her cool gaze and short answers. He was frustrated by it and, so, had given up by the second day. It was not that she rude nor did she ever act against him but, rather, that she seemed to be above him – acting on a different level. He had found it amusing to see how she struggled to contain herself when the hobbits irritated her but only because he knew how she felt. How he would much rather be traversing this countryside with a ranger by his side! The hobbits moved so slowly and noisily that Aragorn was afraid the entire countryside knew exactly where they were.

Each morning they woke to dew sprinkled with icy crystals and a temperature drifting around freezing. The chill nights were especially hard for Aiedale and only served to darken her already black mood. Middle Earth seemed to be on a different season and it was just one more thing that irritated Aiedale. She hated, with a passion bordering on obsession, being cold for it made her muscles and joints stiff and that could very well get her killed in a fight.

If the cold mornings were not appreciated by the Shadowhunter they were also not appreciated by the hobbits. While they were dressed quite appropriately they did not appreciate being woken before dawn by the ranger and not even be allowed to enjoy a hot breakfast. Instead they had to make do with one of bread and mushrooms which, compared the hearty meals they were used to, was practically nothing. When Pippen complained to Aiedale, she had raised an eyebrow and told him coldly that 'losing a few pounds would be a good thing for all four hobbits.' The comment had rather stung Pippen, Merry and Same but Frodo had seen the quiet humor in it and chuckled while Strider looked on with an amused grin on his face.

The ranger did know that none of those he was leading, from Darklighter to the pony, would like him any more then they already did for leading them into the Midge-water Marshes. They had dipped down from the Old Road and the ground was getting damp, and in places boggy and here and there the group would come across pools, and wide stretches of reeds and rushes. The ranger, despite all his skill, had to be careful on the path he led the hobbits and the pony for they were not as light of foot as he was. Angling them through and around while keeping their proper course took all his attention and he was secretly glad that Darklighter had taken it upon herself to erase their tracks. She seemed quite capable at it and it eased the ranger's mind a little.

Over the course of the third day, their progress was dramatically slowed as there was no permanent trail for even Rangers to find through the shifting quagmires. The flies began to torment them, and clouds of midges hung about the party as they made their miserable way through the lonely and unpleasant country.

"I am being eaten alive!" cried Pippen. "Midgewater! There are more midges than water!"

The night was cold and miserable. Neither the ranger nor Aiedale slept and spent the night in silence that was broken only by the occasional irritated groan from Aiedale as she killed another bug and Strider relighting his pipe now and again. The hobbits slept only fitfully, for the biting insects were not subdued in their attempt at carrying all living creatures off.

By morning the air around Aiedale practically crackled with her irritation and all avoided her as if to postpone an inevitable explosion. The force of the glare on her force could have repelled midges. She barely ate any of the bread passed to her by Strider and instead passed it to Frodo as she returned to her familiar place at the back of the company where she could simmer in private. Knowing that a volatile young woman was walking behind them sped the pace of the hobbits and they made good time out of the marshes and into higher country.

The young Shadowhunter longed for a bath, a change of clothes, some company of her own choosing and a one way ticket out of this infuriating world with its infuriating inhabitants. She knew her irritation was irrational and that glaring at the hobbits anytime they so much as glanced at her was unfair but she did not care for, as seemed to have become the norm, she was tired, sore and lonely. She was lonely and homesick. Hobbits and Rangers are not Nephilim and she would even have gladly spent time with a Downworlder. She just wanted someone who knew who she was – what she could do – and was up to date on all important matters in the Clave. Someone, be it Nephilim or not, who just _knew _and could help her. She felt isolated and it was a feeling she hated and tried to ignore even as it added to the angry fire burning within her.

Even as the ground drew drier and the midges were left behind, her mood still verged on thunderstorm and she was unable to take joy in any of this like the hobbits and, to some extent, Strider. In fact, she rather felt that the marshes had matched her current outlook on life quite perfectly. Even as they came to a stop and camp was made, she remained completely silent as she brooded over all the events that had occurred as if, by examining them obsessively, she could find the answer to all of her persistent questions that no ranger or hobbit was able to answer.

The fire flickered before them. The hobbits, exhausted, had quickly fallen asleep and the rhythmic sound of their breathing was mixed with the crackle of the fire and the chirping of insects. Aiedale, knees drawn up to her chest, was gazing into the dancing red flames while Aragorn smoked his foul smelling pipe across from her, his grey eyes as distant as the Shadowhunter's green ones. Each saw something different. To Aiedale the flames showed the faces she missed most and the various places that she called home from the manor house in Idris to the large, grim Institute in Paris.

Strider also saw things that he missed. He saw the breathtaking face of Arwen Evenstar mixed in with the face of his mother and many others who he had called friend and brother. Every now and again he would puff on his pipe but he found himself lost among the path of memories he had not walked for many years. Glancing away from the mesmerizing fire he glanced up at his silent companion and examined her discreetly.

She was weary with dark circles beneath her eyes but she had made no complaint when she took her turn at watch and nor had she seemed to falter with weariness. Darklighter seemed to be made of very stern stuff and yet he had not learned anything more about her. She had a fiery temper – her dark irritation with the world around these past days had confirmed that. Where was she from? By the Valar there were few people like this girl and he longed to know where exactly she had sprung up from.

"Do you find me interesting to stare at?" asked his young companion with a pointed glare that could have singed his eyebrows.

Aragorn had little practice soothing teenaged girls and so he floundered for a moment as he tried to find something – anything – that would help ease the tension between them. "I am curious," he said carefully, "and the night is long. I have never met someone like you."

"Nor will you," said the young woman as she raised her pale face to the sky. "We are few."

"We?" he asked as he looked down at the fire between them.

"I come from a distant land and there I am a warrior of light. We are called Shadowhunters, Nephilim and many other things – some less complimentary." Her lips quirked in a small smirk as if some of these other 'names' were amusing to her as well as insulting.

"How did you come this far then?" he asked curiously and, half expecting, for her to get defensive and irritated with him. But she didn't. He did not know that Aiedale actually wanted to speak of her home and life if only to try and cling onto it until she could once more walk the streets of her city. Perhaps it was the cool night air or the stars or merely that she was weary of being on the defense with this man. Regardless of what it was, despite her commitment to secrecy, she allowed herself to talk to him as if they were friends and not relucant, uneasy allies.

"I do not know," she shrugged helplessly. "I have my suspicions but I cannot act on them quite yet. I think I came here by magic and so I have decided to accompany the hobbits both to assist them and to find the wizard, Gandalf, that they spoke of." Aiedale frowned slightly at the glittering stars and then said, "I hope to return to my own land as soon as possible. I am needed there." Her heart beat painfully as she thought of exactly what she was missing and those who would be missing her as she sat here, so far away with hobbits and ranger on the rough ground.

For some reason the Ranger was not surprised to hear that she was from a distant land that could not be reached by ordinary means. She was so different – so alien – and unlike anything of Middle Earth. That she was a warrior was obvious and he half-wondered what it meant to be a warrior in her land if women were trained to fight. How different was this land? What kind of things happened there to take any strip this girl of youth and innocence until she was left much older then seventeen? He pushed these questions away for this was not the time or place for explanations when they were both weary and the darkness so close.

With a swift nod he said calmly, "I will help you anyway I can…" he trailed off suggestively and looked at her intently hoping she picked up the hint. Her green eyes glittered with firelight as she regarded him and her lips twisted with a small, acknowledging smirk.

"Aiedale," she said the name with that lilting accent that rolled the letters in an almost elvish way. "My name is Aiedale…" she to let her voice trail off suggestively and he understood even as he quailed at the thought of speaking of his family in such a way. His name was something he guarded jealously but so had this girl – perhaps if they were to move forward at all he would have to share it. She had given hers and it was a fair name and suited to the young woman who sat, dirty but proud, on the other side of the flames.

"Aragorn son of Arathorn." His words were so soft that they were nearly drowned out by the fire and the sounds of the hobbits and insects but, from the brief gleam of satisfaction in those green eyes, he knew she had heard. A little of the tension, the uneasy, lifted from the air between them as both acknowledged each other without the barrier of not knowing what to call the other.

"Where will we be tomorrow?" asked the young woman and she raised her face a little to gaze at him with that proud, cold face that was so much older then she herself really was.

The change of subject was almost a relief for the Ranger and he swiftly calculated how much farther they had to walk. "Weathertop," he told her, "an old outpost when this land was inhabited and called the Northern Kingdom." He tapped his pipe and then turned his gaze back to the silent young woman who seemed lost in thought.

"I see," she said with an uneasy glance around and they both returned to the silence as they both considered what was slowly closing in on them. Her blood, her instincts, thrummed at the prospect and she felt herself grow a little stronger as her hand tightened around the kindjal hidden her gear.

The Riders would not be fooled for long and both warriors knew that all to well. A gentle breeze stirred the marsh grass and seemed to whisper a soft warning on the cool fall air…_They are coming…_

* * *

**_another chapter...sorry it is soooo late and rather short but at least it is here and I am working on another one to. Hope you enjoy this one! _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_AnimeVamp1997: hahaha no there is no OC pairing in this story. Aiedale has a boyfriend back home *wink wink and she will start to talk about him in the next few chapters...Aragorn and her are just working out their natural impulse to mistrust dark strangers who are carrying large knives and have differing opinions on how do to things! I am glad you liked it :) Shadowhunters are a pile of fun to write! _**

**_silverhawk88: Mary-Sues are ridiculously perfect characters that are used again and again by authors until we see 'girl' 'Middle Earth' 'Fellowship' and run the other way. They are usually girls and around sixteen and are just...well they manage to do everything easily and somehow end up falling in love with a major character like Legolas or Aragorn. Yes Zoe is a funny story...never planned on that one going as far as it has! I am glad you like it...we will see how far it goes and where! Hope you like this chapter to!_**

**_Ifbookswerefood-i'dbefat: I am glad you like it! Hope you like this chapter to!_**

**_Dennisthepinkgoldfish: haha thank you :) Hope you don't mind how short it is and I shall update soon...I PROMISE! _**


	6. Chapter 6

The land had risen steadily all day and now, in the distance, they could see a long row of hills. The hobbits found them intimidating and disheartening while Aragorn looked on with eagerness and determination. Aiedale did not care either way – she was done with swamps and the sight of hills was hardly something to be worried about in her opinion. Better, in her opinion, to worry about what crept along behind them – drawing close as they dawdled along at a snails pace.

The highest of the hills was a strangely shaped top as if it had been smoothed and flattened. It was to this one, black against the grey sky, that Aragorn pointed to as they came to a stop. "That is Weathertop. The Old Road runs to the south of it and it is to there that we must go. " The Ranger paused and then said quietly, "If we continue at this pace then we will reach it by tonight." His voice had a strange note to it and Frodo caught it as the Ranger raised his proud face a little.

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo. "What worries you?"

The Ranger was silent for a moment and then said, "It is not certain what we may find. It is close to the Road. Gandalf may have come this way or he may not. It would take a great deal of luck for us to meet at the same time for neither he nor we can wait long there. The Riders will head to Weathertop as soon as they fail to find us along the Road."

The hobbits looked anxiously at the dark hills and Sam, for he feared the world the most, looked around nervously. His eyes rested for a moment on dark Aiedale who stood silently and then to the grey, dismal landscape that seemed so lonesome and forbidding. He feared that everything, from the birds to the trees, were watching for them or hiding enemies in their shadows.

"Come," said Aragorn, "we follow paths seldom tread and the road is long."

Behind him, Aiedale glanced behind her shoulder for the umpteenth time that day. She did not think heading to this 'Weathertop' was a good idea and would much rather have stayed in the wilderness and far from the road. They were being hunted and she, rather like Sam, felt that everything was not as it seemed. The shadow that lurked just out of sight and seemed unwilling to be firmly recognized, was not something she could take on with a knife. It was a subtle evil and she was certain that it and those Riders were connected. Whatever it was she took as a warning. This night she would not sleep – this night she would prepare herself for a fight that she knew was coming.

There was frost in the air, and the sky was dark grey. A few melancholy birds were making a little music from the small clumps of trees that were scattered across the land. The noise was far from comforting or cheery and it only served to remind the hobbits of how far away they were from the Shire. In their homeland birds sang joyfully and the land was fair – this was a dismal place with a beauty that was too rugged and wild for the gentle Shire folk. Aiedale rather liked it and Strider had come to love the land that, once long ago, had been part of a powerful kingdom of which he was a remnant. He understood this place and he protected it – protected the memories and glory that had once been here.

The path they followed changed from nothing more than a game trail to a true track that was plain to any eye. It ran southwards and seemed purposely designed to keep as much hidden from the view, both of the hill-tops and from the flatter and more open ground that the travelers were leaving. The road dived into dells, and hugged steep hills; and where it passed over flatter and more open ground on either side were lines of steep boulders and hewn stones that screened travelers like a hedge. Aiedale was grateful for the added security and half-listened as Aragorn explained the history behind the trail and then men who had created it. Middle Earth, she came to realize, was an old land. The tales of elves and men seemed linked and magic wove a pattern amongst the great deeds of heroes long dead. Had she been anywhere else, like back home maybe, she might have listened eagerly and asked many questions. Now, however, it was just a distracting bit of back ground noise that she had to put out of her mind in an effort to listen to their surroundings.

The iron grey sky was growing darker and the light beginning to fade when they came to their destination. Nothing was to be seen moving on the hill and, if Gandalf was about, there was no sign of him. The hobbits, sighing with exhaustion at the sight of the climb before them, slowly followed the Ranger up the hill while Aiedale forcibly slowed herself. Concealment was no longer possible and it made her jumpy. She could not help but imagine how short this climb would be if it was Shadowhunters moving beside her not slow, easily tired hobbits.

On the top hey found a wide ring of ancient stonework. One could still see the shape of walls, door ways and could almost imagine the place as a towering watch tower. There was an air about the place and it made the hobbits shiver while Aiedale felt a little more at home. This place reminded her of the Institute – old and enduring but watchful to with many memories and emotions caught in the crumbling stone. This was a place she could defend.

Standing on the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round them the world. They saw the dome of the sky as it reached down to the edge of the world. The land, featureless expect for patches of woodland, met it at the edge where blue and grey met and mixed. The Old Road was a ribbon below them and wound up and down until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the east. Nothing was moving on it. Nothing seemed to be alive or moving anywhere on this land. The Mountains, grey and white, stood behind foothills that were brown and somber. The hobbits felt very small and even Aiedale felt as if this world was too large and too uninviting. The world looked wild and wide from Weathertop even to Ranger and Shadowhunter eyes. History lay heavy on this place to and it colored everything with bitter memories.

"This once was once a watch-tower," Aragorn said softly and then, his eyes so distant that he might have been looking back into the past. "For the kingdom of Arnor." His grey eyes were misty and the words were soft, as if he feared speaking too loudly in this place.

The young Shadowhunter looked around with a curious eye, taking in the remnants of this once powerful place. The weatherworn and chipped walls, the bright green of weeds and grasses that crept up through the cracks in the stone as well as the vista that spread out around it. No wonder someone, long ago, had chosen this hill top for a watchtower. Looking back at the Ranger Aiedale half-wondered if she should say something to break whatever memories he was reliving but she held her tongue. This place, or rather the history behind it, seemed to have a strange effect on the mundane and she felt a rising curiosity to know more about his people and why he chose to wander the Wild. Everyone had a story and, no doubt, there was a long and complicated history behind this man. The two hobbits looked up at the Ranger and their wide eyes glinted with curiosity. Frodo especially was interested to hear more about the lands they traveled through as if, by knowing of their past, it would make them more hospitable.

"It fell before my time," he murmured quietly, "perhaps I will share some of its stories tonight." As Aragorn looked out across the wild country he saw more than empty lands. He saw the walls rebuilt and full, the noble men who stood guard and the soldiers who had patrolled among the patchwork of well tilled fields with their stout farmhouses and even stouter farmers. He saw the seasons come and go from high summer to deep winter. This had once been a powerful kingdom and now, with its city fallen, the descendants of those farmers and warriors had taken to the North. One day, he hoped this land would once more resemble the distant memory that flickered across his eyes.

"How far is Rivendell?" asked Merry, gazing around wearily.

Aragorn did not know what to say to the young hobbit. The Road, from this point, looked endless and yet every road had an end. It was those who reached that end who could look back and speak of the distance they had traveled. Looking back to the questioning hobbit, he shrugged and said evenly. "The Road has never been measured. To some it is long and to others it is short but to my own feet it would take twelve days with no ill fortune. We have at least a fortnight's journey before us, for I do not think we shall be able to use the Road." The Ranger fell silent for he could imagine just a few things that might be waiting in store for them even if they stayed to the Wild.

Frodo said nothing but inside the young hobbit was jumping nervously. The silence of the hill-top and the loneliness that clung to it made Fordo truly realize his homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left him in the quiet beauty of his homeland. The Road, twirling away, led to his home and how he longed to set his feet upon it and feel the warmth and peace of the Shire once more! He would be glad to leave the grim faced Ranger and Aiedale with her strange ways.

"Let us find a better hiding place," said Aragorn to the hobbits. "There is a dell on the opposite side of the hill that will protect us from unwelcome eyes." He started to lead the hobbits and the pony away but looked back when Aiedale did not come. The Shadowhunter waved him onwards but turned to look back out at the world. Something about the way she was standing made the ranger hold his tongue and leave but he wondered what she was doing.

Aiedale was trying to find something. The watchtower provided an excellent view and it was something she had decided to use. Hidden behind a crumbled memory of a wall, she watched the Road and hoped that they had not been seen. Having all the hobbits and a pony on the hill had not been the smartest of choices but she doubted they had been seen for the walls were tall enough to conceal the top of the hill from those looking up. Yet, for she was a warrior, she would not let this excellent chance to learn more of the terrain she was surrounded by, pass by. She could look out for miles and miles across the untouched countryside and it was nice to be alone. To have the wind in her hair, the world at her feet and a chance to look for the enemies she had known were trailing them.

Her eyes searched, methodically, along the dusty colored Road and then, with a leap of her heart, she saw them. Two black specs, horse and rider, moving slowly along it, going westwards; and looking again she saw three more creeping eastwards to meet them. The light was quickly fading and night would be upon them soon but Aiedale's eyesight was keen and she saw what the black shadows were. Black Riders, on black horses, were assembling on the Road beyond the foot of the hill. Her heart sped up a little and she smirked. So they had planned on surprising them? Too bad for them.

She was more than ready to play at their level. Fire would be her friend this night.

Slipping away on silent feet, the Shadowhunter followed the hobbits and Ranger. She would need to tell them and make sure no one did anything stupid that night. There was no room for mistakes when dealing with shadow demons and Aiedale had never been one to leave any room for error.

The place chosen by the hobbits to rest that night was in a small dell that was well sheltered and protected. The ground was soft and it afforded a protected nook where a fire could be lit safely with a stone wall rising up behind it sharply and, yet, it was open enough that one could watch over the darkened land. As evening fell heavier around them and the air grew chill, the hobbits gathered around the fire and spoke softly to each other. They were trying to send the shadows away and remember other times when they had spoken over tankards of ale in the Green Dragon or laughed over simple but delicious dinners. They felt surrounded by unfriendly lands that were empty of all but wild creatures and evil things that took to the night.

Supper was meager and, as the last of the food was finished, Frodo commented on it. "We have been careful with out food but, if we still have two weeks to go, I do not see how it can be made to last."

Strider shrugged, he had refrained from pulling out his pipe and his entire body, while relaxed, was prepared for something - anything - to happen. "There is food in the Wild." He said calmly, "You will not starve with me as your guide."

Aiedale snorted slightly from her place at the edge of the dell. She did not fancy eating roots and berries for the rest of the trip but she wouldn't complain even thought she desperately wanted to tease the hobbits on their rapidly shrinking waistlines. Shifting slightly she looked back out across the shadowed countryside. Even with vision increased by runes the darkness was thick and concealed much of the land. In a private moment on the way back to her traveling companions she had quickly runed herself as she might to prepare for a fight back home. She would take no chances this night. With one hand firmly gripping her kindjal, she kept herself relaxed but ready all the same.

Her mind drifted back towards home, something it did often these days. She missed them all, especially her brother with his sunny disposition and quick wit. Yet, the longer she thought of home and the things she would do once she made it - for she would make it! - the more her mind drifted away from family to another person. Aiedale had many boyfriends over the years, some had been Downworlders and there had even been two mundanes who and been gifted with the Sight and had, recently, become mundane world informants for the Clave. Some had been casual one night flings on the dance floor as she searched for a demon or two. However, the past few months, she and not been flitting from one romance to another leaving broken hearts and boyfriends who still sent her love letters. This was one person, the first one, who her aunt and uncle had actually approved of. His handsome face, reserved but kind, flashed through her mind like a perfect snapshot despite not having seen him for some time now. He had grey eyes and slim hands that could handle a seraph blade as expertly as a violin. She missed him, his quite reassurances and the way he would just smile then tell her she would never, no matter what, be alone. For her he had left the London Institute to spend time in Paris – with her - and their relationship had only deepened and strengthened as they lived and fought beside each other every night. Now he must think her dead or captured...everyone would think that.

_I miss you Callum_, thought the young warrior as she sighed heavily. Missing someone you love, not because they are family, but something more and different is sometimes the hardest thing of all. Misery, a deep dark anguish, overwhelmed her for a few minutes before, like she had done many times these past few days, she was able to rein in back in. It seemed to be something she had to do more and more as she became more desperate to find this wizard and high-tail it home. She could not wait much longer or it would overwhelm her. Bottling it all up this way could not go on indefinitely, but there was neither time nor place for sorting it all out. She had no one to speak to - no one who knew who she was and that also made her reluctant to blurt out all of this.

The cold, increasing as the night grew thicker, made Frodo and his companions huddle even closer around the small fire, wrapped in every garment and blanket they possessed; Aragorn was content with nothing but his cloak. Aiedale was relying on sheer determination to keep her from feeling like a frozen block of marble. The sky above them had cleared and the stars shone down on them, their light welcomed if only to break the endless blackness. Occasionally, as the night fell and the light of the fire began to shine out more brightly, Aragorn would speak of old tales if only to keep the hobbits minds from fear. The Ranger, despite his rough clothes and even rougher lifestyle, knew many many stories of old. He was learned in many things and an excellent story teller.

Aiedale listened to it as best she could from her place on the very edge of their small camping place but, as the night was at its darkest, the man began to chant softly. It was a fair song, so beautiful and flowing that the young Shadowhunter had to of move a little closer just to catch it better. The tune, rhythmic and soft, warmed her and reminded her of better days when friends were by her side and the world was at her feet. It spoke of a love that not even death or immortality could sunder and Aiedale wondered what kind of people, human or elf, were capable of such sacrifices. She had never met an elf and half wondered if they were anything like the Faeries who lived in her world. The song, elvish according to Aragorn, was created by them and it was the kind of thing the Shadowhunter might have heard in a Faerie Court. Yet, if that was their language, then surely they had to be just as beautiful. The language was so lyrical and enchanting that she longed to hear more of it.

As the song came to an end she turned her face to look back at the small fire and the man who sat, silent and shadowy, a little ways from it. The hobbit's faces were raised to gaze at him but it was the expression on the impassive Ranger that caught her attention. She could see his face clearly despite the shadows and it was lit by some inner light. It was like a mask had been drawn away and she saw him without shadows hiding him. His eyes were shining and his voice was rich like a tapestry of many colors. This was no common man, she realized quickly, but someone more - someone strong and noble. Behind him, only adding to this sudden change in the air around him, rose a moon that let out a pale, clear light which made things shine ever so slightly. It only added to the glow that hung around him, an aura of power and majesty that she had never seen about a mundane.

For a few seconds she could not look away but she forced herself to turn away and look back out at the black countryside. She could see no sign of trouble - yet. All seemed so quiet and peaceful but, the longer she sat watch, the more confident she grew that something was coming. There was a cold dread in the air and a kind of tension that always preceded an attack - even the oblivious hobbits seemed to feel it, especially Frodo. Quickly making sure her gloves were on correctly and her weapons at the ready, she settled herself into a calm but cool focus that she always adopted when waiting for a fight. Time did not matter and she could be endlessly patient - if she had to be.

Behind her came the sounds of Sam, his footsteps were heaviest, and Merry, who had a quick walk, rising from the fire. She was tempted to turn and tell them not to leave the safety of the golden flames but then changed her mind. Maybe they would see something she could not from this place. They moved away while Aiedale remained still and silent like an ever watchful statute. A few minutes passed silently between those left in the small dell beside the ancient walls.

It was then that Sam came running back, his breathing tense and Aiedale quickly turned. The hobbit's face was white and he seemed frightened. She tensed, her suspicions were being confirmed, and she did not need his frantic words about 'something creeping up the slope' to make her rise from her place on the edge of the dell. She was hidden by the shadows and her feet were silent as she slipped around to stand in a corner - just a few feet from Fordo and the Ranger but just out of the circle of light. She would wait to act for a few minutes.

"Keep close to the fire," hissed Strider as he stood upright and tall against the darkness. No sign was there of the man who had sung the beautiful song and spoken of the deeds of great heroes. Now the grim Ranger was back and he was tensed in preparation of a fight. "Choose the longer sticks and have them ready in your hands!" Behind the man the walls of the watchtower rose and danced with the light of the fire.

For a long few moments there was no sign of any enemies. A cool evening breeze ruffled the hair of the hobbits's as they gazed into the shadows that encircled them with the cherry fire to their backs. Nothing happened. There was no sign or movement from any of the shadows around them and the air grew oppressive with anticipation. Frodo stirred, he longed to do something other than grip a wooden stick with his small, smooth hands. The ring was heavy around his neck and it felt as, for a moment, as if it was pulling him towards the darkness and away from the security of his friends. He fought it as best he could and renewed his grip on the branch. Beside him, secure and comforting, was the knife he had taken from the Barrow Downs.

Suddenly, rising from the darkest of the shadows at the lip of the dell, on the side away from the hill, they felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one. Aeidale could see them clearly as the forms of men, rough forms but in that sort of shape - the Riders she had glimpsed in the mundane village. The hobbits strained their eyes but they could not quite make out what the rapidly growing shadows were. Yet they could feel them and they could see how these shadows were so deep it felt as if one might fall into them and be lost forever. They were not normal shadows but venomous ones that made the already chill air so cold it felt as if they were frozen to the ground. Only the warmth of the fire kept them where they were. Aragorn held a branch close to the fire in readiness.

The shapes slowly advanced. Five of the Nazgul were enclosing the hobbits and man in a tight semi-circle with the stone at their back. They moved with terrifying deliberateness and their very presence seemed to fill the air with freezing cold despair. The Hobbits had never seen nor felt anything so terrifying or evil. Even Strider, who had confronted the creatures before, had to struggle against their potent aura.

Frodo felt the bitter cold, he felt as he had when he had been trapped in the Barrow Downs. He felt the terror and this fear swallowed him up though he did not move from his place even when Merry and Pippen scrambled away. Even when Sam shrank close to his side, he could not move nor make a sound. He felt the temptation rise within him to just put the Ring on. So easy. Put it on. It was a compulsion so strong that he forgot the warnings and his own resolve. It did not matter in the face of this coldness, this pure darkness that caught him in its net and refused to let him go. He could not speak; there was nothing he could even as a small part of his mind struggled against the darkness. He felt Sam looking at him and he briefly wondered where Aiedale was, but he could not cry out for help nor turn away from the quickly approaching shadows. At last, slowly, he drew out the chain. Resistance became unbearable and he could no longer ignore the longing to slip the Ring onto his finger. It was calling, a voice that he could just make out was singing out in a language so cruel and vicious that Frodo could not bear to listen to it.

The world suddenly changed. The dark shapes were terribly clear before his eyes as if their black cloaks had suddenly been whipped off and a light shone on them. There were five of them, tall and with white faces that burned with a keen bur merciless light. Helms of silver were on their heads, in their haggard hands were swords of steel and, yet, like a ghost of memory the hobbit caught sight of noble men that had been turned into slaves in the the name of evil. They turned their eyes to him. The force of their gaze freezing him in place and making drawing his sword or slipping the Ring from his finger impossible. Ice cold dread filled the hobbit and, in a distant part of his mind, a voice was screaming at him to remove the Ring and run, but he couldn't. He could not move.

The tallest of them who had a crown instead of a helm bore not only a sword but a knife. Both the weapons gleamed with a pale light of their own and, the edge of the knife, was too fine for the hobbit to make out. In a blur of movement, so fast that Frodo had no time to react, the ghost king sprang forward and bore down on him. The knife was raised and Frodo knew it was coming for him, but there was nothing he could do even as the pale King prepared to strike him down and take back the golden band that seemed to be calling out to the ghostly figures.

The knife never reached Frodo's shoulder.

It was spun away as another blade, this one etched with runes from another world, intercepted it. A gloved hand pushed the hobbit backwards as the two blades met with a clang and a black clothed figure with braided auburn hair took slipped forward to face the hooded shadows. The edge, to fine for mortal eye's to see, grazed Frodo's shirt before it was turned away. The two blades skated off each other and the force of the impact sent the black, ice blade tumbling away to be lost in the thick shadows that clung to the crumbling walls. The evil thing was no match for the glittering blade held in the slim finger hand.

Aiedale raised her seraph blade. She had not called on the hidden power within it - had not needed to - and she would need all that power to scare these creatures off. Better to wait until a more opportune moment and then speak the name of the angel it was runed for. She would know when that moment was there - her instincts would tell her. Her confidence in those instincts was well placed, as was her confidence in the skills taught t her by various instructors over the years.

"Who are you?" hissed the Nazgul.

"I am shadow," said Aiedale quietly as she held the glowing seraph blade. "I am shadow and dust."

"Join us," hissed another of the creatures who stood behind the one who had carried the knife. "Join us and we will give you riches beyond your imagination."

"No," said Aiedale simply for she was a Shadowhunter and to them there was no treasure greater then the life they lived. She did not need much and neither wealth nor great power appealed to her. So, with a toss of her head, she laughed a little at these dark shadows of men that thought to turn her to their side with a slim promise of something she had never wanted. "Try again," was her quick remark and the Nazgul stepped back a little. They had never been laughed at - scorned - before and to have it happen now was shocking.

They raised their swords and the first one hissed, "You shall fall. As all have fallen before, you will fall."

"One day," answered Aiedale and she knew she would. It was a choice she had made by being a Shadowhunter. By chasing death and vengeance she had chosen to burn with fierce light. One day she would fall and be claimed but not this day. This day she would blaze with all the courage and life that came with being mortal. She may not have long but she had this time and she did not regret her choice to be Nephilim, to bear the marks and scars of a Shadowhunter. She did not regret it and could never imagine regretting it.

As the Nazgul swept his black sword down toward, as time slowed, she entered the chilled calm that was fueled by adrenalin. The calm where every problem had a solution and her thoughts were speeding far ahead of the moment her body was stuck in. There was no fear of failure or worry for the hobbits behind or any other emotion. It was perfectly quiet and still like the calm before a storm strikes a lonely ship at sea. She saw what would happen before it did, she saw the way she would catch the black blade with the flat of her seraph blade and how she would twist her own blade to wrench the sword out of its owner's hand. She saw the way her seraph blade would flare as she cried its name and plunged deep into the black shadow of the Nazgul's chest and how she would wrench it out as she danced away from the other Nazgul even as they tried to slash at her with their ghostly glowing swords. Aiedale also saw that, as she spun away and the Nazgul shrieked in pain, how Aragorn would leap from the shadows with a flaming branch and expertly start setting the creatures alight as he slashed at them with a bright edged sword. She had waited and now it was time to act.

She saw it all and she felt alive. She felt as alive as every time before she had fought and won. She intended to win this fight and she knew exactly how.

Now. It was time. Aiedale also saw that, as she spun away and the Nazgul shrieked in pain, how Aragorn would leap from the shadows with a flaming branch. She had waited and now it was time to act.

The entire thing was over quite quickly, everything happening just as the Shadowhunter had predicted it would. Each movement and action perfectly timed so that, as she dispatched one of the creatures, Aragorn was able to match, blow for blow, the others even as he set teething alight. The Ranger had mo time to worry about Aiedale who had suddenly appeared at exactly the right because, even as she met them head on with that burning dagger, he found himself int he unenviable position of having to fight off two enemies at once. Armed with a blazing torch and dueling with all the skill he had honed after years of fights in the Wild, he found himself lost in the repetitiveness of ducking, spinning, blocking and slashing with the fire at the creatures.

The Nazgul fled. Their robes burning from the fire thrown at them by Aragorn and, with two of their number suffering from the burning fire of the seraph blade, they ran back into the dark night and vanished like mist in the morning sun. . Back to the shadows to regroup and rethink their next attack against what had seemed an easy threat. Their inhuman screeches echoing off the stone and lingering in the air like nightmares. They would not forget this defeat – they never forgot anything.

Aiedale was not particularly impressed - she had seen shadow demons that stayed and fought even if they were lit on fire and, to her, any really powerful demon should fight right down until it vanished from the dimension. These Nazgul seemed to prefer waiting for another time and, for she had little doubt, they would choose to confront her in a situation that favored them. An ambush where Aiedale and the others had little warning and were ill prepared to fight. It was a nasty thought and made her grimace slightly. They would have to be doubly on their guard now for the Nazgul would not take this defeat lightly and would, no doubt, make the next confrontation one where fire and seraph blades were little use.

As she stood for a few brief moments and recollected herself at the fight she forgot that she was being watched by not only the amazed hobbits but the watchful Ranger. Aragorn had never seen anything like it before and he could not tear his eyes away from the person who now stood before him. Even as the flaming torch in his hand blazed and the Nazgul made their quick escape or even the near miss with Frodo and the blade, none of this could quite match what he had just seen. They all saw her unmasked and unguarded for the first time in this journey.

Aiedale seemed dangerously calm. It was a furious kind of calm that did not impair thinking but fueled a person past normal limits. As she spun to look at him there was no sign of the girl with the soft laugh or the witty sense of humor. There was none of the girl who had gazed at the stars the night before and told him she was from a land so far away it took magic to reach it. There was nothing of the girl who had sat, so quiet and watchful, that night and then exploded into action before he even had time to realize a fight was upon them. Her face had gone dangerously calm - a look of such utter assurance and calm to it mixed with cold fury that glittered in her green eyes. There was something foreign about her now. Something that was too powerful, too bright and strong to be human. She burned. Her blade flaring with cool flames it seemed and a halo of brilliant light around her. There was nothing like her in this world and he suddenly was glad that there was no one like her – too many and surely this world would not be able to withstand it.

Aragorn had never seen a Shadowhunter when they fought. Never seen the way they change into something more akin to an avenging angel then a human. He had no idea the adrenalin that coursed through Nephilim as their blood awoke and their blades glowed with a promise of vengeance. So now, to see the quiet shadow of a girl turned into this glowing warrior that sent the Nazgul fleeing, was the most shocking and strangest thing he had ever seen. A skill so natural, a fierce passion that he had never seen before, seemed to fill the air with humming energy. It frightened him and it made him wonder if, had she wanted to, she could have killed him and done so without hesitation or any difficulty.

"Aiedale," he said and then again with growing strength. "Aiedale!"

She turned to him and sent him a lazy, arrogant smirk as if she found his fear amusing. "We had best go." Her words echoed unnaturally in the suddenly dead air and she spun away from the Ranger to look at the hobbits. "They will be back," her words echoed with assurance and she seemed to be in complete control but it was hard to forget how she had looked. How she had blazed and changed until she was unrecognizable. It was not something he would forget and nor could he help but think she was no ordinary girl. She spoke again and this time with more urgency, "We don't have time. We need to go," she rested a hand on Frodo's shoulder and pushed him forward before urging all the others on with quick words and pushes. The Hobbits were reluctant to move at the start,still petrified by what they'd just seen but they had no choice and, as the chill began to fade slightly, they found it easier to move.

Aragorn did not want to let the matter go. He had heard the Nazgul speak to her and heard the way she and replied, seen the way her blade, now hidden, had exploded with light until it was beacon in her hand. He wanted her to answer his questions - to explain what and who she was, but he couldn't and so was left to hurry along behind the hobbits, erasing their tracks as they went. His questions burned within him and it took all his self-control to stop himself from demanding them of her as they hurried down the steep slope and into the forest. She still seemed to glow, to burn, in the shadows and she still had that look of…he did not know how to explain it. It was alien and frightening in its power even as she encouraged the hobbits forward with quiet reassurances.

There were questions he wanted her to answer: what was she? Why had her blade flared like a falling star? Why did the Black Breath, the very aura of fear and despair, projected the Nazgul have no affect on her? In all his days, for he had lived a long and full life, he had never seen anyone openly scorn the Nazgul or blaze with such strength. She was not an Istari or elf-kind, but she was powerful in a way he had never seen before. What had brought her this far? As the Ranger walked, he mused on the most chilling question of all: What kind of people lived and fought like this girl?

The ranger was unaware that, as they moved along, Aiedale was wishing she could ask questions of her own. She had seen something more, something that fascinated her, when the Ranger had been speaking of the fair elf maiden, Luthien, and her love, Beren. That had been no mere mundane sitting by the fire but someone with the power and assurance of a natural leader speaking of an impossible love with familiarity as if, like the doomed pair, had experienced what they had. She had seen something beneath the mask of a Ranger and she wondered what secrets lay behind the ragged appearance of this man. She was a Shadowhunter and, as a general rule, her kind hated secrets - especially if those secrets could be considered dangerous. Soon, very soon, she would demand more from this man then pretty songs and old stories.

They moved swiftly through the forest. Hurrying with adrenalin fueled steps that carried them far father - far more quickly - then the hobbits had ever thought they could go. When at last they slowed, the night was on the wane and Weathertop was a distant silhouette against the night sky. The craggy remains of the watchtower black against the lightening sky as the stars slowly faded and the shadows began to recede. Behind them - echoing like a terrifying reminder of what had happened that night - came the all-to-familiar scream of a Nazgul who had been cheated of its prey.

* * *

_**Chapter time! I just love writing action scenes with Shadowhunters and Nazgul...very fun! Hope people are enjoying it so far and, of course, I love feedback! **_

_**Note: There will be changes to canon as the story progresses. That is the point. Sorry if there are readers who would prefer I struck directly to the book or movie script but Aiedale is a OC and new characters are supposed to change the plot through their own actions/presence. Even if those OC characters want to or do not to have that effect on the story. **_

_**Review Reply: **_

_**Dennisthepinkgoldfish: thank you :) I am glad you like this story! This chapter is much more my normal length...I guess I like long ones! ;) Hope you like this new chapter to...**_


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the new speed with which the small company traveled they still had to move cautiously through the land. There was no sign of the Riders, but even as the sun sent it's welcome light over the horizon the morning following the Weathertop incident, Aiedale heard two cries from somewhere far behind them. A cold voice calling and a cold voice answering. It made her already grim expression darken and her feet naturally quicken upon the small path that the Ranger was leading them down.

They traveled this way, silent and grim through the wild country, bushes and stunted trees grew into dense patches with wide barren spaces between, the grass was scanty, coarse, and grey; the leaves were fading to gold and falling. the hobbits found it cheerless, but Aiedale found the wild freedom that hung in the air to be a welcome release from the crowded city she spent most of time in. In this wild place she could feel the wind and the air was fresh, crisp now with autumn, but she liked it. It tasted clean in her mouth and the ground was springy beneath her light steps as if it was urging her to run and never stop.

For days they walked and, while Weathertop slowly sank, and before them the distant mountains loomed a little nearer, they saw no sign of the Riders. Yet that did not mean any single member of the group lowered their guard. Since the distant cry that had echoed as they moved swiftly away from the old watchtower, the hobbits found themselves dreading the dark hours. They kept watch in pairs and were often joined by either Aiedale or the Ranger, expecting at any time to see black shapes emerging from the grey night, dimly lit by the sliver of moon. But they saw nothing, and heard no sound but the sigh of wind through dead grass and bare branches. Sometimes the night noises of water dripping, strange cracks or the hoot of an owl would make them shiver or tense as if expecting the next sound would be that of a sword being drawn. The dark, chilling cold that trailed the Riders did not bother them eiher and, yet, the hope that the Riders had lost their trail seemed to good to be true. Something that Aiedale was quick to remind them of when they felt their steps slow and their minds turn to home. Her warnings of ambushes and the need for speed sent chilled fear through the hobbits and made their steps quicken once more as they followed Aragorn.

On the sixth day of travel since Weathertop they saw the Road sweeping round a clump of hills, and to their right a grey river flamed pale in the thin sunshine. In the distance, far away like a long awaited dream, was yet another river in a stony valley half-veiled in mist. It was to this river that Strider pointed and told them that they were making their way to the Ford of the Bruinin. If they could make it there, to that final crossing over the Bruinen of Rivendell they would be able to breathe easier and make their way swiftly to the Last Homely House.

To that distant goal the hobbits flung their hopes and strength of will. Even as the country took on sombre air that only Aiedale did not find depressing, they pressed on. The land seemed cheerless to the hobbits and, while they were glad to leave the Road behind once more, they could not help but think that this country seemed threatening and unfriendly. On some of the hills were the remains of ancient wall so stone and the ruins of great castles. Those crumbling ruins, stone now covered in lichen and with grass growing through cracks, seemed to be coated in loneliness - as if the pain of whatever had caused them to be abandoned was not forgotten and now poisoned the land. It had once been tainted by the shadow of Angmar and it was a darkness nothing anything ever really forgot.

As the days past a wind rose out of the West and with it came a damp cold that poured the water of the distant sea onto the dark land in a fine drizzle that soaked everything until it was saturated. Aiedale was obliged to borrow a spare cloak from the Ranger even though it was far too long for her and the smell that clung to it made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. The hills rose high and steep, yet, like a compass trained on one direction, the Ranger never faltered but led them along a path few had ever dared tread. He knew this country well, it was here that he had spent many years with his companies of Rangers and he knew many paths that were invisible to ordinary eyes.

At last, on a high ridge that they found themselves after climbing of the narrow valley they had been traveling down, that the rain finally let up and dry firewood was found. They set up their small camp under the gnarled roots of an old pine and the hobbits quickly ate their small dinner before huddling together in a nook created by the old tree's roots. The wind was chill and it made the pines lower down the hillside moaning as if in pain. The constant chorus made Frodo think of a dark cloak being swept across the tops of the trees as if something was hunting for him from above. The shadows seemed so thick and black that night that he was grateful for the steady warmth of his hobbit companions and the focused intensity of the two warriors. The fire was also a comfort and, the longer he lay there the sleapier he got until his weariness overrode the warnings his mind sent him. Before long all four of the hobbits were fast asleep, their faces peaceful as if they dreamed of better times in better places.

It was only when their soft breathing had evened out that the a ranger finally felt able to turn his attention the mystery of a girl sitting across from in. The cloak fell around her like a mantle and her face was inscrutable as if she wore a pretty mask that hid any sign of the person beneath. "What are you?" demanded the ranger. The hobbits, exhausted, did not even stir as the fire crackled merrily between the two watchers. His words were spoken in a hiss too low for them to hear, but it might as well have been spoken loudly with it's fierce intensity.

She and been expecting it. Looking up into those intense grey eyes she knew she had practically asked for it that night at the watchtower. He was right to question her so - she fully intended to do it to him - and so she was far more polite then she might have been. Maybe one day she would explain to him that, had they been in any other situation, she would not have tolerated his questions and flat out refused. As it was she would not tell him everything - some things were better left unsaid - and much of what he wanted to hear she could not speak of freely to someone who was no Nephilim. However, despite this, she would not just hand him information - there was a price and he would find out that this price was more answers, only this time they were answers only Aragorn could provide.

"I am Aiedale," said the young Shadowhunter. "I am a soldier and serve beside my kin to protect my land from demons. I am human just like you." Her eyes never wavered from the mundane who sat across from her and, in the same even tone, she continued. "It is true that I am different, but only because of my training and skills passed down through generations. I am stronger then you and immune to certain things that affect you." She smirked inwardly at how she had just simplified, not only what she was, but how different she was from the Ranger. When she got home and told her family and friends of this she was certain that everyone would laugh...even so this was the first mundane she had ever spoken of this to. It felt strange, and almost as if she should glance around to make sure no member of the Clave would jump out and lecture her about secrecy.

"Like the Nazgul?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes," said Aiedale after a brief moment of hesitation as she considered the best way to answer him without showing him the runes or his they protected her. "I cannot feel what you feel when they are around you. I am protected by...wards that are cast around me. I have fought creatures like them before."

The ranger was silent for a few long minutes as he digested these new piece of information. It sounded so strange and yet sensed no lie about this girl for she looked at him with clear grey eyes and she did not seem like the kind to lie. She had yet to lie or act against either him or the hobbits she seemed dedicated to protecting. Meeting her gaze he asked coldly, "How do I know you speak the truth? How do I know you are on this side?"

The young woman lifted a slanted eyebrow and the coolness in that face suddenly made the ranger doubt the wisdom of voicing such an accusation. Lifting her chin and gazing at with a hint of anger, Aiedale spoke. "I always tell the truth, but I am not in the habit of volunteering information that I am not asked for. We guard our secrets and do our best with what we are given." She looked away and Aragorn suddenly realized that maybe her people were a little like his own. Shunned and feared but always working towards the benefit of others - even if those others were the ones who hated and feared them. Perhaps he should not have been so quick to judge what he did not know.

"How did you come here?" he had already asked her, but the question was resurfacing.

"I do not know," she could help the snap that entered her voice like the crack of a whip. Bringing it sharply under control she shrugged and said, "I have explained this to you before." unable to hold the words back despite herself, Aiedale murmured, "I can only hope that I can return home."

The longing in her words, the open homesickness that shimmered for a few brief moments in her eyes, stripped her of much of her armor to the Ranger. Suddenly she looked young and painfully lonely, like a leaf being tossed around in a wind storm with no way of anchoring itself back on the tree it was from. Those few brief moments of vulnerability, however, were soon hidden, but he had no doubt they were still felt. Aragorn knew no hand on her shoulder or a gesture of that sort could offer her any comfort. She was, as she had told him just now, a soldier used to being on her own and yet she was alone in a place that was a foreign to her as she was to it. Usually her face was as readable as a stone wall but now it was open, briefly allowing him a glimpse of the person she might be with those she trusted and loved. How often did she allow parts of herself to shine through? How often did she allow herself to express her true feelings? The moment passed and her gaze was once more shuttered, so cold and old - he wasted no more time or words.

"I will do all I can to help you. I do not doubt that if it is Gandalf's power he will send you home." The words were soft, but Aiedale knew that he meant them with all the sincerity he had. She had never heard a mundane sound so and it made her suddenly wonder if, just maybe, they could be trusted to keep their word.

Looking away, suddenly not able to hold his gaze she versed her one of her own questions. "Who are you?"

The Ranger was surprised by her sudden change and yet, he supposed it was only fair that she ask him the same questions he had asked her. Could he trust her though? Did he have a choice? He didn't. She could very well have ignored his questions and he did not wish to destroy the fragile peace that had slowly formed between them and now seemed to be turning toward an equally fragile friendship. "I am Dunedain, my people are the descendants of Kings who ruled over Arnor. Since the fall of Arnor we are the watchers of the wild places and ensure the continued safety of Eriador. We are protectors. Skilled with weapons and light of step, we wander the Wild and hold to both our honor and duty this land."

Aiedale raised an eyebrow and gazed at him with that strangely perceptive look that seemed to cut right through his defenses. As it was the Shadowhunter had heard him speak of his people before and the way he spoke of them made her think he must be their leader. However, this night, she did not want to know more of them. "I am not asking about your people," she said quietly. "I am asking about you. Who are you?"

He was not sure what to say. Who was he? He was a Ranger, but he was more than just Strider. He had been a Captain in Gondor and he had been counted as a friend and brother to many of all walks of life. His childhood had been spent in Rivendell where he had been named Estel, or Hope, and it was there he had learned of his true heritage as Heir of Islidur. He looked up at the thick branches of the old pine tree as he considered the weighty question. At last, he found a way to answer her question truthfully and simply. "I am still trying to find out who I am Aiedale." It seemed a poor explanation. A pathetic one.

She cocked her head and gazed him for a long moment before inkling her head. "Give me a better answer when you know it." Her words would stick with him, challenging and, in the coming months, he would remember them when his road seemed too dark and lonely to walk. He needed to answer it, had needed to answer it for many many years. The silence stretched unbroken between them and as both considered what had been spoken of. The silence fell heavily between them until, suddenly Aragorn asked.

"Why did you help the hobbits?"

Aiedale looked up at him surprised for a brief second. She thought they had finished with their question and answer period, but apparently not. For a second she looked back to that day when she had first met the hobbits after waking up injured and alone in a sunny clearing. They had seemed so foolish to her when she had met them on the Road, innocent and naive like the helpless mundanes she saw everyday in her own dimension. Her conscious had not let her walk away and she had seen them as a way of returning home. There had been that strange feeling, the one that if she turned away now it would be disastrous and so she hadn't. Shrugging, she said simply, "Because it was the right thing to do at the time for both the hobbits and for me." She did not know how to explain the strange impulsiveness of her decision to this man and so she kept it simple - simple words to explain something complicated.

Nothing more was said between the two as the stars turned and the wind whistled through the pine trees. Aiedale leaving the man on watch while she curled up using the cloak for a pillow on some soft moss that grew in abundance around the tree. It was not comfortable, but she weary and they still had many miles to cover the following day. Many miles through dangerous places.

As she lay there, quiet and still looking up at the dark branches, she remembered the meetings held at all hours in the library at the Institute. When battle strategies were devised and everyone was clutching cups of pitch black coffee or medicated teas. The way weapons were left strewn about on the couches or various tables and the way people looked sometimes bearing bruises or sporting white bandages. How they would argue and debate until they had hammered out a plan. Sometimes they would be dressed for a party or wearing pajamas...she missed those meetings. She missed the arugments and the laughter - the companionship offered freely and without even thinking of it. She had been a member of a team and it was a feeling she missed most of all.

Slowly Aiedale drifted into sleep and her last thought, as the fire sent it's warmth across her back, was how much she missed her bed.

* * *

They had been walking for an hour or so, over country nearly identical to the land that they had been walking through the previous day. Somehow, as they were walking, Frodo felt himself slip back from his friends. They did not notice, not even the usually attentive Sam, and he was glad for the silence that being a little ways behind the others gave him. He had, however, forgotten briefly that by slipping back he now walked at the same place that Aiedale did. The Shadowhunter was so silent he sometimes forgot that she was there at all.

Thus, when she spoke, he was startled and jumped slightly as he suddenly remembered that now he was walking directly beside the black clothed warrior. "How are you Frodo?" she asked quietly. She had rarely spoken to any of the hobbits these past few days, choosing to remain silent and lost in her own world. It seemed that this was her chance to break her silence.

The dark haired hobbit glanced at the slender girl who moved so swiftly and gracefully by his side. Could he be honest with her? He found himself wanting to speak openly. He wanted to share a little of the fear that had only grown since his near stabbing that night. His companions were moving a little ways in front of them and the Ranger was even farther ahead. Besides he found the presence of Aiedale to be strangely welcome - she seemed to be the kind who would listen and listen well. "I am afraid," he told her candidly. "I am afraid of what this means and what carrying the Ring means for me."

Aiedale glanced at him, "It is alright to feel fear."

"You do not," he told her without meeting the green eyes that glittered like bright gems. "You faced the Nazgul and felt no fear."

"I feel fear," said Aiedale calmly. "I do. I feel it right now as I think of all the things that might happen, that have happened in my short life. It is what makes us different from the Riders. Every warrior feels it." Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "It is not that we should or should not feel it Frodo, it is what we do with it. Will it empower you? Or will it destroy you?" She rested a hand gently on his shoulder, "It is a choice we all - not matter who or what we are - have to make. That you have to make now."

"I do not think I can choose to master it," he murmured so softly that it took all her enhanced hearing to catch the faint admission. "I cannot stand against the Ring nor protect myself or my friends from the Riders." He raised his bright blue eyes and Aiedale thought she had never seen eyes that blue. They were bright and frightened, but she felt a flicker of respect that this hobbit, young and untried, could speak so openly with her. She doubted she could have managed to in his position. Aiedale had the sudden, unfamiliar, urge to put her arms around the hobbit and tell him it was all right. She didn't. In her experience things were rarely alright and there was no point offering false comfort. Looking towards the distant horizon she wondered what she should say.

Finally, dodging a large stone in the middle of the path they followed, Aiedale said quietly. "My mother told me to believe in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. Maybe you can find that courage Frodo." She met his questioning look with a small smile and then gestured at the others who moved in front of them. "Catch up. I will follow."

He looked at her curiously, the words she had spoken to him echoing in his head. Then, seeing the worried look sent his way by Sam who was beginning to slow his footsteps so as to walk beside him, Frodo nodded to the girl and sped up once more. Maybe, he thought, she was right. The Ring seemed a little lighter around his neck and the shadows less terrifying then they had before.

* * *

So these were trolls? Aiedale examined the stone statutes that, apparently, had once been living and breathing mosters. She was rather disappointed. This was considered a dangerous foe? She supposed that they might look more impressive without cobwebs and bird nests, but they seemed rather tame in comparison to some of the monsters she called 'trolls.' With a sigh she rubbed her stiff neck and wished, not for the first time, that she could wash her hair. The braid kept it up and neat, but the strands were greasy and still contained traces of her own blood mixed with black demon blood. Lovely.

As the hobbits along with Aragorn continued on, talking about someone called 'Bilbo' and what he had to do with the stone giants, Aiedale ran over her list of things she would not miss about Middle Earth. The lack of modern convinces was high on the list. What she wouldn't do for a hot shower and comfortable bed...Her musings were cut short as a faint sound reached her sensitive ears.

It was the faint clip-clop of a horse. From the sudden stiffening of Aragorn he had caught it to - an easy thing to do for the sound was growing louder and nearer. They were back on the Old Road and, even as the hobbits and Ranger scrambled back into the thick bushes along the right side, she chose to leap into the branches of a thick oak tree that still clung to many of it's leaves. A new sound, too faint for most mortal ears to have caught, came the sound of what seemed bells. A soft tinkling that puzzled the young warrior. What kind of traveler placed bells on their steed?

Slipping her bow from the quiver across her back she readied it. An arrow fitted to the string and her eyes searching the dusty trail, she was rewarded a minute later. Into view came a white charger, gleaming in the fading sunlight, it moved swiftly and assuredly across the ground. It's black hooves making remarkably little noise for how big it was. The sound of bells grew louder and Aiedale could catch the faint creaking of the horse's tack as it moved. The bridle was decorated with gems that seemed almost like stars as the red and gold light caught them. Upon it's back was a golden haired warrior dressed in grey and black. His sword gleaming at his side and his proud face shining with the light of the Eldar. The pure white light such a contrast to the dark abysses of shadow of the Riders.

This, she supposed, was an elf. He was fair and tall with golden hair that fell in a shining wave. Those glittering eyes swirled with so much power and wisdom, but they could hide many things. While did not seem like any of the Faeries she had met before Aiedale was hardly just going to like him because of his pretty looks and bright sword. Her hands remained steady on the warm bow she still held. Beneath her the thick branch she stood upon shifted slightly in the faint fall breeze.

She watched silently as Aragorn leapt from his hiding place, quickly followed by the hobbits, and begin to speak urgently with the golden haired elf. The tall elf dismounted then and, with one hand on his white horse, spoke in that fair language that she had heard Aragorn sing in. Maybe she should leave her hiding place now? No one seemed to be at all worried for her and she half wanted to keep out of this elf's sight until she had a little more trust that he was not like the Faeries of her own land. Names were exchanged, this elf seemed to be called Lord Glorfindel and, while his face was bright and his laugh like many silver bells ringing at once, he had an air of urgency around him.

Before she could think too hard on it, however, her senses gave a warning tingle. Something was coming...a feeling she confirmed a second later. The Sensor still hidden in one of her Gear's numerous pockets gave a small vibration as it picked up on the demonic energy. Her body attuned to the subtle changes in air temperature and forest sounds automatically tensed even without the Sensor. The Riders were on their way and, currently, the hobbits were speaking with the golden haired warrior like sitting ducks. Idiots. With an irritated sigh and one quick glance down to make sure she would not land on a tree root, the Shadowhunter leapt from the high branch she had climbed to. She landed gracefully just two feet behind the hobbits and Aragorn.

It was so satisfying. In fact it was almost too satisfying to see everyone, from the ancient elf to Pippen and Merry, look at her with surprised eyes. She was tempted to say 'Just dropping in,' but the steadily increasing feeling of darkness made her senses jump once more and she settled for a raised eyebrow before saying quickly, "We need to move. Now."

"Who are you?" asked the elf. As his horse snorted nervously and pranced where it stood.

"That doesn't matter," was the short reply. Meeting Aragorn's grey eyes that gazed at her with clear worry. "Now." She snapped and with one arm pointed down the path they had come, "The Nazgul are on their way here."

The elf glanced back the way he had come and must have sensed a little of what the tense Shadowhunter had already felt. He looked back and then with a decisive nod he said, "Five ride behind us and I fear the rest wait for us further ahead. The lady speaks true, we must go swiftly now." Gently stroking his steed's pale white neck he said, "You shall ride my horse Frodo. He will not let you fall and his step is smooth; and if danger presses too near he will bear you swiftly away at a speed not even the Black Riders can match."

Frodo looked ready to argue, but before he could even open his mouth to protest at leaving his friends behind so that they could face the darkness while he rode to safety, a hand landed on his shoulder. It was a slender hand, but Aiedale's grip was almost painfully tight and he recognized it for what it was: a stern reprimand for wasting time with foolish words. So with a heavy sigh he allowed himself to be placed upon the tall, noble horse. The others moved swiftly beside him, the pony nearly trotting to keep up with the new pace. The night was quickly approaching and the shadows lengthened.

They traveled through the night, the swift tirelessness of the elf matched by the equally tireless Shadowhunter who had taken the precaution of marking herself. Not once during the hurried travel did Aiedale speak and she ignored the many curious looks cast her way by Glorfindel; she had bigger things to worry about. The evil chasing them had faded back, but no one thought for a moment that they would not eventually face it. The next morning they found themselves still far from the Bruinen and the Ford which they had to cross. The Road was running steadily downhill, and, after a brief rest, they found themselves walking in the shadow of dark pine trees, and then they were plunged into a deep valley with steep walls of red stone. Echoes ran along as they hurried forward and there seemed to be the sound of other footfalls beside their own. All at once, the Road ran out again from the tunnel and into the open. Clumps of forest dotted the land and the Road twisted about in front of them. They were drawing close now to the Ford of Rivendell. It was still a good gallop on swift horse or a long day of quick walking and that distance was what worried all even Pippen who was the youngest and most oblivious.

It was then that Aiedale felt the darkness it stronger then ever before - as strong as it had been at Weathertop. The others also seemed to sense it, especially the ranger and the elf who both looked back even as she did. Frodo gripped the front of his shirt as he heard the Ring cry out loudly in that evil language. Aiedale turned on one heel she heard the sounds of hoof beats and one quick glance at the land that now lay before them told her that, if her instincts were right, Riders also lay both in front of them and now behind. Her instincts were rarely wrong these days. She could feel them and so could her Sensor that was gently vibrating against her. They were going to be trapped. Aiedale had guessed this would happen, had suspected the Riders would choose to ambush them rather then directly attack them - attack her - and this was the perfect chance. When safety lay so close. It was time to act once more. She slipped the bow away even as a plan already spun through her mind and the sounds of hoof beats behind the small party grew louder.

Swiftly she picked up a stone from the Road, it was smooth and the perfect weight for throwing. With a flick of her wrist she let it fly and it smacked the white horse, causing Asfaloth to snort in pain even as Glorfindel cried out, "Noro lim Asfaloth! Noro lim!" the combination of his masters of cry and the pain of the stone made the horse rock back on his hind legs and prepare to leap forward. His tail swishing and his ears pricked forward.

In the instant that the horse rocked back and Frodo found himself gripping the mane before him with white knuckles, Aiedale leapt forward and vaulted onto the saddle. Her light weight settling into the saddle just behind the hobbit just as the swiftest elf horse in the land exploded forward. There must have been something about the perfectly balanced wight of this new rider or maybe he sensed that she was there to help him accomplish this task, for the elf horse did not protest at Aiedale's presence. In fact he seemed to appreciate her skilled grip on his reins that helped him balance as his stride lengthened. Frodo to felt more secure with the firm arms wrapped around him that kept him from becoming unbalanced and tipping to the side. The wind whistled in his ears and the bells upon the harness rang wild and shrill. The elf horse sped forward as if there wings upon his heels and, behind them, came the black horses of the enemy their eyes wild.

The white horse was heading towards the first clump of trees. Guiding the horse down the open track of the abroad the young warrior looked forward and saw the first Rider. The black horse and rider were standing in a thicket and it was only the glint of the sun on the bright bit that alerted Aiedale to their presence. Turning Asfaloth sharply to the side Aiedale found a narrow track that branched off to the side and, ducking to avoid a branch, she guided the powerful stallion down the new track. The scream of anger was quick to follow and, as they emerged back in the open, she glanced behind and saw that a Black Rider now galloped behind her. Looking forward, Aiedale concentrated on what lay before her. The chase was on. She would make it - they would make it.

By the time the Ford of Rivendell lay under a mile away, seven of the Black Riders were spread out in a loose arc behind the white horse and it's two riders. Only a few meters lay between the white steed of Glorfindel and the leading steed of the Nazgul. Frodo dared not look back, he was already struggling against the Ring and, had he been alone, he was not sure he would have had the strength to keep pressing the noble steed onwards. As it was the strength that emanated from Aiedale gave him the courage to keep fighting against the urges of the Ring as it whispered to him. Closing his eyes he gripped the thock mane tightly, he did not want to see their cold eyes glittering or hear their fell voices calling to him.

Aiedale looked towards the approaching clump of trees. No doubt there would be Nazgul - two had yet to show themselves - waiting for her. With soft words spoken in French she urged Asfaloth forward and the stallion - for he had come to like this strange girl even though she was not his true rider - surged forward despite his own weariness. They entered the trees, a Nazgul screamed and Asfaloth had to spin to avoid crashing into the black horse and it's rider. Leaping forward the horse narrowly dodged the blade that slashed down. Aiedale caught sight of a river glittering before her and then, before she could do anything, another Nazgul leapt forward. The two horses nearly crashing into each other as Asfaloth had to spin hard to the right to evade this new road block. A branch slammed against Aeidale's right arm and she felt a flare of intense pain shoot up her elbow, but she ignored it - too lost in the adrenalin and final push to consider the pain.

Leaping down a steep river bank, Asafloth leapt without hesitation into the swift flowing river. For a few seconds the horse had to fight against the current until he managed to find his footing and make it through the deeper water and onto a wide, shallow place just before the bank gently rose up into another stand of trees. Aiedale drew him to a halt and turned him to look back at the opposite shore. Something told her to stop - something told her they were safe now and there was no need to keep pushing the horse onwards. They were across the Ford. That was important.

But the Riders were close behind. At the top of the bank the black horses were brought to a halt and turned on their hind legs neighing in protest at the rough treatment. There were the Nine Riders of Sauron in all their shadowy power, they screeched their anger to the skies. They seemed to bring night to the bright morning and Frodo felt himself quail at the sight of them with their drawn swords and auras of despair. Hatred of this fear stirred in him, but he could do nothing right then except continue the endless battle against the Ring. Aiedale murmured something above him in a language he had never heard before and gently stroked the sweaty neck of the horse that had brown hem so far so fast. Asfaloth snorted and danced a little, his hooves crunching against the small pebbles of the river bed.

"Come with us!" cried the Riders in unison. "To Mordor we will take you!" There voices mixed and echoed. The sound cold and chilling.

"No!" cried Frodo even as he felt the Ring pulling him towards the shadowy shapes. "I will never go with you!" The Nazgul laughed, the sound like nails being dragged across a blackboard.

Suddenly the foremost Rider spurred his horse forward to the edge of small drop into the dark water. The leader forced his reluctant horse down the bank and into the river. Behind him the others seemed to ready their horses to do the same. Asfaloth reared and neither loudly, Aiedale drew a seraph blade from under her arm brace. Already the leader was half way across the Ford and Frodo could not hold out much longer against the combined powers of the Ring and the Nazgul. It was then that Aiedale, as if sensing that Frodo was slipping, whispered in his ear words he had never heard before.

"In the name of Raziel hold to your strength Frodo Baggins!" The words were strange and yet powerful to - just as Aiedale was herself. They echoed with something that drove the shadows and Ring away for a few brief moments and that was all it took for Fordo to recollect himself. He had nearly been lost and nearly taken the Ring out, but those words had blazed within him and they still gave him something...something as white hot as the blade that Aiedale had wielded that night at Weathertop. Just a little longer...

At that moment there came a roaring and thundering, as if a tidal wave was about to crash down on them. The River seemed to rise, and down along its coarse there came a wave that seemed to be shaped like horses. The sound was deafening and Asfaloth drew back closer to the dry bank as the water crashed down on the nine Rider who had been so close to crossing. The black horses screaming in panic as the river carried them away. The piercing cries of the Riders drowned out by the roaring of the river as it carried them away.

Aiedale gave a light laugh then and said thoughtfully, "How clever. I wonder who did that."


	8. Chapter 8

The wave thundered downstream, the sudden surge of foaming water quieting as it carried the black Riders and their horses away. The sound of the Nazgul's screams and the remnants of their chilling laughter faded away slowly to be replaced by the sounds of birds chirping and the swift sound of the Bruinen's clear water flowing over rocks. Only the memory remained and neither Frodo nor Aiedale would ever forget it. The sound of the Nazgul when they hunted was something that would always haunt the shadows of their memories.

Forcing herself to act, Aiedale nudged Asfaloth forward and out of the river. The horse scrambled up onto the opposite bank where there was an open strip of grass before that slowly changed into forest. River rocks dotted the ground and the grass was beginning to die as the nights grew cold once more. As the rush of adrenalin began to fade, Aiedale became aware of the fierce ache in her arm. Glancing down she noted the odd angle and the pain was a familiar one - during the ride that branch had either badly cracked or broken her elbow. The branch that had slammed into her arm must be the cause of it and it irked Aiedael slightly that she had been injured in such a way. To her, such injuries should not occur when one was riding a horse through a forest. What kind of person got injured like that? When the horse came to a stop, the Shadowhunter slipped off and, with her good arm, helped Frodo drop to the ground.

"What do we do now?" asked the hobbit as Aiedale loosened the girth and slipped the bridle. Asfaloth bickered his thanks and began to crop the slowly dying grass. Frodo stumbled little finding that he was strangely tired after his battle against the darkness. Wisely choosing to sit down, he choose a flat rock that had been warmed by the sun and looked with wide eyes at his only companion.

"We wait," answered the Shadowhunter, "the others have to catch up and I have to heal myself." As the hobbit watched with those wide eyes, Aiedale slipped her arm brace off and drew out her stele. The slight jiggling of the arm made Aiedale wince even as she quickly drew the stele across her skin. The sight of the suddenly straightening arm and the way the rune vanished into her skin like a ghost of a memory made Frodo openly gasp.

Looking up at him with a faint smile even as she put her stele away and pulled her sleeve back down, Aiedale felt he was due an explanation. "When I am injured I can heal myself using runes."

"Oh," whispered Frodo and he looked at her with unsure blue eyes. "I don't think I understand."

"It's complicated," said Aiedale. "Suffice to say that they are Marks. They're runes burned into my skin. Different ones do different things. That one healed me and some increase my strength or perfect my balance. Only Shadowhunters like me can carry them."

Making sure the blade underneath her arm brace was lying correctly once more, Aiedale glanced around. The river widened here a little and they now waited on a grassy floodplain. The deepest and swiftest part of the river was on the opposite bank. Had she not seen the thundering wave that had crashed down on them a few minutes before, she might have thought the river perfectly ordinary. Now, however, she was certain some power controlled it. It was just who controlled the power that had her worried. For if that power could summon a raging wave then what else could it do? The air before the wave and been charged, but she had put it down to the Nazgul and the power that swirled around them. Now she wondered if she had been mistaken and, in truth, she could still feel power though it was so faint as to be invisible.

Asfaloth snorted slightly and Aiedale smiled slightly as she moved over to the white horse and bang to rub him under his thick mane. His neck was sweaty and the horse seemed quite appreciative of the rubbing. Frodo chuckled as the horse reached around and began to itch Aiedale's shoulder in return, his entire body contorted as he leaned into the itch. The gentle nibbling forcing Aiedale's tense muscles to relax.

"He likes that," commented the hobbit with a smile.

Aiedale laughed, the sound coming easily and freely from her like silver wind chimes. "All horses like it!" she told the hobbit. "Ones like Asfaloth are particularly deserving." Smiling fondly at the horse she could not help but feel as if something had come to an end - some leg of a journey was over. The feeling made it possible for her to take a moment and enjoy the quiet river bank - to enjoy the gentle nibbling of the white horse as she scratched underneath his heavy, hot mane. To forget, for a time, the urgency with which she had to find a way home.

"You like horses then?" asked Frodo. He thought he had never seen her look so relaxed nor seen her face so peaceful. He hadn't even heard her laugh like that, a sound so carefree he almost wished she would make it again. The sound had reminded him of wind chimes on a summer day when a gentle breeze stirs the leaves on trees. It helped him forget for a moment to the heavy burden around his neck and the Nazgul's chilling words.

"I do," she told him even as her fingers moved closer to Asfaloth's withers, finding a new itchy spot that had the horse almost falling over in ecstasy.

"They will be a while?" asked Frodo with a heavy sigh as he looked towards the opposite bank and the Road that his friends still traveled on. "Right?"

"I should think so," said Aiedale without looking back. "It was a long gallop on a very swift horse. You hobbits move slowly to." Her eyes twinkled slightly with her gentle teasing.

Frodo could not hold back his own chuckle, stunned by the suddenly light atmosphere between him and the girl. She seemed too unguarded and open; even as he still felt the cold despair of the Black Riders and the twisted desire of the Ring. "You are used to a faster pace?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," said Aeidale. "Much faster!" Pausing in her scratching she gently stoked the noble face of the horse. Her fingers gently combed through the thick forelock and then smoothed the white hair above his eyes and across the broad forehead. As she did so she murmured softly in French, the words foreign to the horse, but comforting all the same. Just as they had urged him onwards they now told him what a good boy he had been and how special he was to race like he had. The meaning contained in them was all the horse really cared about, that and the fingers that stroked his face.

"What language is that?" asked Frodo curiously.

"One of many languages spoken in my land," said Aiedale. "It is a pretty language I think."

Frodo was about ask a question when, like a switch being flicked, Aiedale suddenly changed. Her face went dangerously calm - the same calm that she had shown that night on Weathertop. It was a dangerously deceptive hard sheen of ice just before it cracked under pressure. Her face was expressionless, but something burned at the backs of her green eyes. The hobbit went rigid, wondering what had caused such a dramatic change in the once relaxed girl.

Moving swiftly, Aiedale replaced the bridle on Asfaloth who snorted nervously at the sudden change. Tightening the girth with expert fingers Aiedale gestured at Frodo. "Come," she said tensely and the hobbit moved forward instantly without bothering to question her. He sensed that asking her anything would not get him anywhere and maybe only make the already tense warrior snap at him. Boosting him up onto the white horse, Aiedale followed and picked up the reins. Beneath them the elvish steed pranced a little as the hands that held his reins tightened. The sudden change making him nervous and upset.

"Someone is coming," whispered Aiedale into Fordo's ear. "More than one I think and I would rather we were mounted." inwardly Aiedale was cursing her slowed senses - she should have been able to sense these approaching horses long before. As it was they were nearly upon them and who knows what kind of riders might be on those horses?

Before Frodo could say or do anything, a group of ten horses emerged from the trees that grew not far from the river. Behind him Aiedale was tense and her arms were firmly placed on either side of the hobbit. The horses were beautiful, their necks arched proudly and they wore neither saddle nor bridle. Their riders remained seated on the spirited horses through skill and a mutual agreement between rider and mount. For, upon those horses, were ten elven warriors. Leading them, their black hair braided back and their grey eyes sparkling with a hard sheen were two identical elves. They were so identical that Aiedale guessed it would take time to tell them apart for they dressed in the same dark grey and their faces were mirror images. Behind them rode a collection of warriors, all were armed. Their hair - black and many shades of gold and silver - flew like banners behind them. Their perfection made them unreal. Their skin was lighter or darker, but always unblemished, their faces symmetrical, their eyes clear. There were no scars, no bent limbs, and no squints in those eyes. They were tall and elegant in their perfection. The most distinctive feature of them, however, was their eyes. For it was there, in those clear depths, that one could truly see the centuries they had lived. Memories swirled there like endless whirlpools.

"Who goes?" called out one of the twin elves as they brought their horses to a halt a few feet away from the elf horse and his two riders. Asfaloth had let loose a warm whinnying of greeting when the horses and come through the trees and it was clear that he, at least, was happy to see the group as were the other horses.

Frodo raised his voice feeling that it fell to him to answer - it was he who had been set with task and he would see it completed no matter how intimidated he felt by these proud elves that, to him, were the stuff of legends. "I am Frodo of the Shire and this is Aiedale."

"Frodo?" asked the other rider. "We have been sent looking for you. Tell us how you came upon Glorfindel's horse." The elf's keen eyes swept over them and took in the cold faced girl who sat so easily upon the stallion.

Drawing himself together Frodo explained of how he and his companions, including Strider,had met the elf lord. Apparently, from the faint widening of the elves' eyes the name 'Strider' was known to them and, when they heard of the desperate ride, they immediately urged their horses to the edge as if to see if any remains of the Nine could be seen. When Frodo fell silent one of the elf warriors spoke in a lilting voice.

"Some of us should return to Imladris with the Ring Bearer and his companion."

"Yes Lucian," said one of the twins as he looked to the opposite bank. "I think I will take some of you and find Glorfindel and Estel." The elf looked to his mirror image as if to ask if that plan was agreeable and, something about the way the other looked at the one who had spoken seemed to contain far more than simple agreement. It was as if, in that single slightly questioning look, the two elves's had an entire conversation. The one who had spoken nodded and then, with a elegant motion of his hand, he summoned half of the riders and led them across the river. Their horses splashing through the swift current before leaping up the opposite bank and disappearing into the dense forest.

The dark haired elf, his eyes as deep and clear as a mountain stream, rode his horse closer to Asfaloth. "Come," he said with a wave of his hand. "We shall take you to Imladris." As Aiedale nodded and the horses began to move away from the river and into the trees, the elf prince watched the strange pair curiously. Elladan son of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell who, by all rights, was truly the High King of the Noldor after the fall of Gil Galad, had never seen such a strange combination. The pale faced hobbit who bore, with remarkable fortitude, the One Ring sat before a girl who could not have seen her nineteenth birthday. Yet, despite her youth, there was something in those guarded green eyes that made him pause. There was aura of quiet power, a kind of sadness, like she had seen her destiny and knew it was only a matter of time before she could not otride the enmies that sought her.

Pushing those thoughts away the elf signal led his men forward even as he cast one last glance behind at the river he could just make out through the gaps in the trees. He hoped that his twin, Elrohir, would find the others and that, soon, he would be reunited not only with his mentor Glorfindel, but his adopted brother, Estel. Seeing the mortal man he had help rescue and raise would be a sweet meeting indeed and it made his heart a little lighter to think of it. He had a great many questions for his youngest sibling to, starting with how he had come across such strange companions as four hobbits and a mortal girl.

* * *

Aiedale had to admit: Rivendell was beautiful. Perhaps it could even rival the beauty of Alicante. The place did not seem real. The buildings seemed too delicate to support their weight and the entire city was perfectly matched to the graceful, proud elves that lived there. Even the air felt different as if the winds were actually whispering in her ear of the things it had heard during its travels. There was an air of peace to this place, the same kind of peace that hung around Alicante and the Shadowhunter found it soothing to her troubled mind. She remembered what Aragorn had said of the place during the journey through the Wild: Rivendell is a cure for all aliments both of the body and of the heart.

Sighing the young woman turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one side of her spacious guest room. They provided a lovely view of one of the many gardens that were so lovingly tended and so beautifully layed out below her room. An overly large bed with cream colored sheets was on one side. A bookcase filled with beautifully bound books was beside a desk already prepared with cream colored sheets of paper and black ink. A door led to a bathroom where some sort of indoor plumbing allowed for a constant supply of warm water. Aiedale had already delighted in removing the dirt and blood from her body until she felt, at last, that she was fit for being seen. The elves, she had already found, were just as impervious to dirt as the Fey in her world. Something she found highly annoying and terribly unfair.

An elf maid had already taken her black gear away for them to be repaired and cleaned. Her various weapons were now stacked and ordered where she had left them on the bench at the foot of her bed. The gleaming blades and sparkling stele looking out of place in a world that had never seen their like before. A closet stood open to show a collection of elegant dresses that seemed to be both flattering and remarkably comfortable. Already Aiedale had chosen one of them when she had emerged clean and refreshed from her bath. The pale green gown she had randomly chosen complimented her rusty auburn hair and pale green eyes. The sleeves came to her wrists and hid, from all who might look, the runes that inked her skin as well as the numerous scars, large and small, that told her life's story.

She did not mind the dress. She even liked it a little bit, but it was hardly her style of dress. Aiedale had always been the kind who liked a little black dress. Simple and elegant - the kind of dress she could brighten up with a scarf or necklace. There were few of these knee lengths, beautifully cut dresses hanging her wardrobe back home. The elvish dress while pretty and flattering in all the right ways was, exactly that, pretty. Aiedale did not like pretty, she liked sophisticated and black, while simple, was the kind of color she could do anything with.

A memory swam across her vision...

_Her closet back home in her butter yellow painted room. Her iPhone blaring her favorite playlist of songs from her speakers as she considered the wide selection of clothes that she somehow amassed while her recently washed hair dried. The sounds of a summer night in Paris filtered in through the open windows and the curtains were pulled back..._

Aiedale shook her head to clear the image from her mind. She did not need to think of those times right now and so turned her mind towards the hobbit she had helped reach this place. Frodo was most likely resting though she did not know that for certain. In fact, upon arrival, he had left with the elf lord who had led half of the group back to the haven while his twin went the other way. She suspected that he had been taken directly to the Lord of Imladris if only because of the burden he carried and the implications of it. The remaining members of their party were probably still on there way. Aiedale had yet to meet the Lord of Rivendell or find out where exactly the wizard, Gandalf, was. She had been shown to her room by a maid after leaving Asfaloth in the care of a stable hand who had hurridely stepped forward when the small party had trotted into the open courtyard. Now, feeling remarkably awake and well, she found the idea of lingering in her comfortable room to be a terribly boring notion.

Slipping a single seraph blade into her sleeve just to be cautious, Aiedale let herself out of her room and into the echoing corridor that was lined by identical doors. At one end was a balcony and she found herself moving towards it. She wanted to feel the wind in her recently washed hair and look out at the clear sky. The railing was delicate and yet it felt sturdy as she rested her arms against it. The dying light of the sun sent streaks of red and gold across the sky, the fading rays warming her pale face. The breeze gently teased her hair and she half closed her eyes, relishing the feeling and merely loving the feeling of being alive. In a life so used to upheaval and loss, it was a treasure to merely be able to stop and enjoy the beauty of the world - even if that world was not her own.

The peaceful air was broken by the sound of soft footsteps and Aiedale turned to see the elf who had led her and Frodo to Rivendell. He still wore the dark grey traveling clothes and the light pieces of armor, but he had shed his sword. He smiled and inclined his head politely when he saw her, his grey eyes inscrutable even as he drew close to her. In the tone of a host asking a guest if they needed anything, the elf asked. "How are you my lady?"

Aiedale was no foreigner to formality - many immortal Downworlders still spoke in the same manner as this elf. Aiedale's earliest lessons had been speaking in a way that they, and some Shadowhunters who appreciated a more rigid set of manners, would find acceptable. So, with a small incline if her head, the young woman answered smoothly, "I am well enough, my lord."

With a self-depreciating smile the elf said, "I am afraid we were never properly introduced Lady..." his voice trailed off suggestively.

"Aiedale," she answered. "Lord..." Her voice taking on a questioning note of it's own.

"Elladan son of Elrond. My brother is Elrohir," said the elf and then, with a gesture at the city before them he asked. "What do you make of Rivendell?"

Aiedale could not help but wonder that the son of this city's lord would engage her in small talk. So, careful to remain vague, she said simply, "It is very beautiful."

The elf was silent for a moment and then, just as he was about to say something more, an elf appeared at the end of the hallway. "My lord," called out the new arrival who seemed to be some sort of messenger. "Your father requests your presence in his study. Mithrandir is also there."

"Forgive me," said Elladan turning to Aiedale who had started slightly at the mention of the wizard she was seeking. "I must go."

"I understand," said Aiedale and she half watched as the two elves left her. So the wizard was here. A small bubble of hope grew within her as she turned once more to gaze out over the shining city. She could not wait to leave this place and retune to the life she knew best. Hopefully that moment would be soon and, closing her eyes, she relaxed against the railing and allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to once more be home. Aiedale imagined walking down the busy streets of Paris with her cousins and brother as they slipped through the crowds invisble to most eyes. She could imagine her aunt standing over a pot of bubbling stew in the giant kitchen or even the feeling of having someone Mark her before they left the Insitute on one of their hunting trips. She stayed like that, her senses still aware of all that occurred around her, even as her mind drifted to the small things that, until now, she had taken for granted.

* * *

As it was Aiedale did not have a chance to meet the wizard until the following evening. After spending some time on the balcony she and returned to her room where she double checked her weapons before, at last, finding a peaceful sleep. The next morning she choose another dress from the ones provided and then was led by the maid, Calthria, to the main dining hall where she had been given a seat next to a silent and elegantly dressed Aragorn. Soon after her arrival of the table he had slipped away on some business of his own and she barely got two words out of him.

The hobbits were also there and chattered together excitedly with a white haired hobbit whose eyes still twinkled with laughter. She was introduced to the hobbit, Bilbo, and listened with amusement as he spoke with Frodo's and the others animatedly about their home. Neither the Lord of Imladris nor the wizard had been at breakfast, but his Arms Master, Glorfindel of Gondolin, had along with Elladan and his twin brother Elrohir. She had found herself sharing polite words with them, but it was with a certain amount if relief that she escaped the table for the quiet gardens of Imladris. It was not that she disliked their company, but that she felt uncomfortable with the way they gently tried to pry into her past even if she was well aware that their questions were justified. When she spoke of who and what she was it would be at a time of her own choosing and not by answering carefully posed questions delivered in polite tones.

With a growing need to see the wizard, but unsure how to find him or even how to approach him, the young warrior contented herself with wandering the gardens of the city until, by some stroke of luck, she found the beautiful library that Imladris was, unknown to Aedale, famed for. It was there, at a window seat, that Aiedale spent her afternoon with her nose in a book about Middle Earth's history. Her mind, conditioned by years of intense study in all areas from language to history, relished the challenge of Middle Earth history. Besides the library was quiet and it had the same air that the libraries of her home did - that simple fact easing the persistent homesickness more than the young warrior fully knew at the time.

So, when it was getting on towards evening and dinner, Aiedale reluctantly left the comfortable window seat and carefully replaced the book back where she had found it. She was hungry for, during her wanders, she had missed lunch. Turning her feet along the way she and come, Aiedale retraced her way to the guest quarters and her room. It was just as she was rebraiding her thick hair, that a knock came at the door.

Calling out from her place by her bed she said, "Enter."

The door opened to show Aragorn. The man was changed and, while Aiedale had seen it at breakfast, she could only consider the vast difference between this man and the one she had traveled with. It was more than just a good bath - which he had sorely needed - or the elegant dark grey clothes he wore. It was as if a mask had been removed and she was able to see the man that he truly was and, during the long journey, had only allowed glimpses of. The man smiled and it lit his face up, making him seem both younger more kingly than ever. It was the glimpse that she had seen that night at Weathertop and she found it oddly comforting to think that she had been right – he was more than a common wanderer.

"Aiedale," he said, "I have not had a chance to speak with you at any length. However, your presence is asked for at dinner tonight. Lord Elrond has asked that you join him in a private dinner. Frodo and the others shall be there." Then, pausing, he said, "Gandalf will also be there."

Aiedale felt a smile creep across her face and she nodded her head swiftly. Quickly tying her hair and making sure that her dress, this one a deep blue with silver embroidery, was smoothed of any wrinkles she followed the man out into the corridor. As she took the proceeded arm she was once more glad that the dress had sheer blue sleeves that covered her marked arms. It felt strange, to a girl used to walking unescorted, to have her arm laced through another's even if it was only considered polite in this world. To her - raised to be independent and in a world where such acts were considered old fashioned - the feeling was strange and she tried to forget it by asking a question that had troubled her.

"Does Gandalf know of me?"

Aragorn glanced at his young companion, but found he could not read her thoughts. Her face was as distant as always and, in the fading golden light of the sun, she looked like an elf what with the dress. The hair, washed and combed out, caught the dying light and streaks of lighter red and blonde glimmered.

"Yes," he said hoping that his voice sounded reassuring. "Both Frodo and I have already spoken with both him and Lord Elrond of our journey here." Giving her arm a gentle squeeze he said, "I mentioned your difficulty to him, but did not speak of anything more. They are anxious to meet you and give their thanks for your assistance."

Aiedale nodded and then asked, "Why a private dinner?" They were walking through the open, graceful corridors and their footsteps echoed through them. On one side was a beautiful garden and doors lined the other. Carved arches supported the ceiling above them and lights were being lit as the sun's light faded robe replaced by cool evening.

The man shrugged ever so slightly, "A feast welcoming those who have come to discuss the One Ring will be held tomorrow. I do not know all the reasons for the decision." Yet the ranger could guess at a few, he knew that Gandalf had wanted a smaller gathering so that he could better become acquainted with the girl that both Aragorn and the hobbits had spoken so highly of. Even Elladan had expressed interest in her after speaking with her briefly and Glorfindel had added his own opinion.

From the spark of understanding that glinted in Aiedale's cool eyes he saw that she had guessed at the true reasons and he inwardly smiled though he resisted the urge to comment on it. Coming to a stop at an open arch that led to a wide dais upon which a table set for dinner was placed. Carved arches rose gracefully around the table and supported a domed ceiling and the steps up were polished marble. The dais had the air of privacy and, like all elvish structures; it was elegant and graceful. Already all of those who had been invited to the small gathering were there and Aiedale recognized a few. Frodo, in dark green, was chatting animatedly with his uncle Bilbo. Beside the aged hobbit was Glorfindel who sat with his golden hair thrown backhand his bright eyes shining with that proud, ageless look. The dark-haired twin sons of Elrond were also present along with a dark haired elf that, Aragorn murmured in her ear, was Erestor the Chief Advisor of Lord Elrond. Beside the advisor was a man in dark grey robes. His eyes were keen and he had a long white beard along with bushy eyebrows. An air of power, of sharp intelligence, was in those eyes and she knew that this was the wizard she had long looked for. He was shorter than the elves he sat beside, and his broad shoulders made him seem more like a wise king of ancient legend. Then, at last, she looked to the head of the table and saw Elrond son of Eärendil whose face, while ageless, bore the memory of many things. He seemed to be both kingly and yet strong, like a warrior in the fullness of his strength. She had read of this lord in the history of this land and now she found herself gazing with interest at the elf that had been at the heart of so many events.

For a brief second Aiedale did not want to climb up and take a seat among such lords as these. She felt even more out of place than ever before for use was both the youngest and the only one of Nephilim blood. It had been easier to forget the differences between her and the hobbits, even Aragorn, when she was in the wild but now they came back to her. The power that had been granted her merely because of birth was not something anyone here could ever really understand.

Aragorn felt her hesitation and, with a gentle tug, he encouraged her forward. He understood her trepidation and it made him smile slightly to think of a girl who was unafraid of Ring Wraiths balking at the sight of a dinner table. For all her strength and composure she was still human enough to feel nerves.

As they mounted the steps everyone turned to look at them. Smiles, warm and welcoming, were sent her way from the two hobbits. Elladan added his own warm smile and even nodded his head in greeting even as Glorfindel did the same while the eyes of Elrond and Erestor looked at Aiedale with barely masked curiosity and interest. However, as Aiedale came to a stop and Aragorn politely drew her chair out from the table, a voice rang out in surprise.

"Ellissa?" asked Gandalf in such surprise that everyone turned to look at the wizard who had, in his shock, risen half-way from his chair. His eyes gazing with such intensity at the young woman that Aiedale found herself shifting uncomfortably. He looked as if he had seen the last thing on Earth that he had expected to see. As if the young woman standing very still was a ghost of someone he had once known. "Ellissa?" asked the wizard again and this time his voice was questioning and his gaze searching as he looked at the young woman who had yet to sit down. The elves, hobbits and Aragorn watched the scene with amazement and confusion.

However, Aiedale suddenly found herself staring at the wizard. For the name 'Ellissa' was known to her. It was her mother's name and, as she had often been told, she looked exactly like her mother had at seventeen. Hearing it again made her freeze and this was the last place – the very last – that she had ever expected to hear it spoken and this was the last person she would have expected it from. So, her voice demanding and her eyes fearlessly meeting the wizard's as her need for an explanation overcame any shyness, Aiedale asked, "How do you know my mother?"

* * *

_**Ugh this took forever - I am so sorry. I hope to get another one to you soon so that you don't get left hanging at this cliff hanger ;) **_

_**As always: BIG thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this story. I love hearing from you and I hope that people enjoy this story. **_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**LadyArcher: here you are :) I am sorry it took so long and thank you for telling me to hurry! It was a bit of block for me on this chapter and it took a little bit for me to keep going. So THANK YOU! :) hope you like this one! My grammer and spelling is a constant battle - I am glad you don't mind it too much. **_

_**guest: An update! Thank you so much for the review :) I am glad you enjoy it! It is fun to write. **_

_**Dennisthepinkgoldfish: haha I thought about that comment for a while...I am glad you found it funny! Thank you for the review :) **_

_**MissleNdn8: You will have to wait and see what her attitude is ;) I can tell you that Aiedale will take the viewpoint of an outsider - she is a foreigner and will have a different perspecitve then those who have fought the Shadow for many years. I hope to get to the start of the Council meeting or maybe the end in the next chapter. Thank you! **_


	9. Chapter 9

The wizard started slightly, his eyes widening slightly as he realized that he had mistaken daughter for mother. "You are her daughter?" he demanded, ignoring the question asked of him. It was if he was transported back to that day...

"Yes. I am Aiedale Darklighter." Her eyes never flicked away from the wizard's intense ones and, unconsciously, one hand tightened around the edge of the table.

The wizard was silent for a moment as he gazed with those far-seeing eyes at the young woman. Her arms were hidden by the sheer blue fabric of the elvish dress she wore. However, he had no doubts about who she was or what she was. The marks of a Nephilim warrior were on her from the languid ease with which she had climbed the steps to the fearless way she met his eyes as if nothing had ever intimidated her. As it was she looked like a replica of the woman he had once met so long ago – the same hair, the same slender build and the same eyes. It was an icy blast from the past and the wizard felt as if the world had been sent spinning into a new direction. Why now? Never had he imagined this…

"Forgive me," he said in a quiet voice as he inclined his head in apology. "I met your mother once briefly many years ago. You look a great deal like her."

Aiedale raised a slender eyebrow and then, deciding the conversation was better held with her sitting down, she accepted the chair that Aragorn had drawn out for her. The man briefly rested a hand on her shoulder, but she did not look at him or acknowledge it and so he too took the empty seat to her left. In an even tone that was no less demanding then the wizard's she decided to keep it simple. "Explain."

_Like mother, _thought the wizard wryly, _like daughter. _Speaking gently for he knew that not just the Shadowhunter wanted answers, but all those seated at the table, he did his best to explain just how Ellissa had entered his life so many years ago. "I met your mother by accident. It would have been…oh close to a century ago. I found myself, quite by accident, traveling in the wild lands of the North. It was there, as I wandered, that I came across a young woman who seemed as capable with a knife as she was in the art of conversation. She told me - after I earned her trust in a fight with orcs - that she was from another dimension, another world where she was a warrior.

"According to her she had been hunting creatures similar to orcs when she had suddenly found herself waking up in Middle Earth. It was from her that I learned of your world, Earth, and then, not long after I met her, she decided to go her own way. Your mother was an independent spirit and when I explained that I had no idea how to return her to her home land she decided she would search for answers on her own." The wizard paused and then said, "I can only assume she found her way back home and that now you, her daughter, have also come here."

Before Aiedale could respond the dinner arrived, carried by silent elven servants who seemed to ignore the tense silence that hung over the table. Wine was poured and then the servants vanished again while Lord Elrond asked those he had invited to enjoy the meal. For these few, short minutes Aiedale had to endure the new flurry of questions that the wizard's words had created within her. How had her mother come to Middle Earth? Even more importantly: how had she returned? Had she even told the Clave? The way she had come to this strange dimension was terribly similar to the situation that had led Aiedale to waking up, alone, in this strange world. More than ever Aiedale found herself wishing that she had known her mother longer or at least could now turn to her and ask what she should do.

Gandalf broke the silence first, his eyes never leaving the girl who sat ramrod straight in the chair a few feet away. In a conversational tone he asked, "How is your mother? I counted her as a dear friend th."

Aiedale regarded the wizard evenly for a few brief minutes before deciding to answer with a question of her own if only to irritate him for once. "How much do you know of Nephilim?"

Before the wizard could answer Elrond asked with confusion. "Nephilim?" The grey eyes of the elf lord glancing curiously between the young woman and the wizard.

Aiedale barely contained a groan of annoyance at the question or the looks on everyone's faces - from the elves to the hobbits. They were all - even Aragorn who had a vague idea of what she was - looking at her with expressions of curiosity and she knew she would have to explain as best she could despite her wish for more information and more information right that second. Drawing in a steadying breath and trying to calm herself a little, Aiedale began at the start. It was a start, but even saying the words made her feel as if the world was crumbling. It should be impossible, all of it should be impossible. "As Gandalf has mentioned I am of another world, another dimension. In that world I am a warrior or a Shadowhunter. To be a Shadowhunter one must be a member of the Clave and have Nephilim."

"Your parent's are 'Nephilim' then?" asked Glorfindel. "They are Shadowhunters?"

"Yes," said Aiedale. "Like their parents before them. In answer to your question, Gandalf," she said turning her gaze from the elf Lord to the wizard. "Both my parents," said Aiedale, "are dead. They died when I was young and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle." It was simple to her - the words even and her face calm.

"I'm sorry," said Gnadalf. "You're mother was a remarkable person."

"I never understood why people always apologize. Shadowhunters never apologize for things that are not their fault." Aiedale's eyes gleamed and, yet, she did not move or give any sign that, inside, she was as tense as a coiled spring. To her, to all who had lost as much as Shadowhunters did, what mattered the most were not well-meaning comments, but listening if one wished to speak. You didn't need to say you were sorry. What mattered was moving on - moving forward.

"It is a way of empathizing," said the wizard casually. "Of saying that one is sorry for the pain and unhappiness the event must have caused you."

"I'm not unhappy nor am I in pain," returned the Shadowhunter. "I have a purpose and I have my brother. I have my cousins and I have a boyfriend. I am not alone."

"Killing is a purpose?" asked Glorfindel. "Seeking revenge through destruction is not any way to heal." The twin elven brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, shifted as they remembered the many years, the centuries, they had spent in such a place. Killing the orcs that had destroyed their mother and losing themselves in the endless fight - the endless pain as they struggled to find some sort of closure through war.

"My duty is to protect the mundanes of my world," said Aiedale as if she was reciting from a textbook. "All that stands between safety and destruction is the Nephilim. Personal feelings are irrelevant. We have been given a mandate from heaven."

"Do you have a choice?" asked Frodo. "About being a Shadowhunter?" Beside him, his face old but his eyes keen, was his uncle Bilbo. The elderly hobbit, like all at the table, looking at the young woman with curious eyes. Though his stare was no as intense nor as demanding, but rather as if Aiedale was telling a vey engaging story not explaining just what she was.

"No," said Aiedale as she twirled the stem of the crystal wine glass between her fingers. "But I would still choose this." Dinner was before them, uneaten and growing cold as the conversation became more important and distracting.

"Why?" asked the stunned hobbit. He could not imagine having someone tell him that his only duty in life was to fight and kill demons. Nor could he imagine being trained to do it until he became so proficient at it that creatures such as the Nazgul held little terror for him.

Aiedale laughed, a clear sound that echoed through the air like bells. "Because I am very good at it," she said and her eyes glittered in the candle light. She looked more dangerous than ever. Her beauty as sharp and deadly as the knives that were her preferred weapon – the mirror image of the woman that Gandalf occasionally thought back to.

From his silent place at the right of Lord Elrond, Erestor asked with a curious gleam in his grey eyes. "No mortals fight beside you?"

"There are families who have served Shadowhunters for years because they have the ability to see through the glamour. They can see the world as it is." Taking a sip of the wine she continued, "I have flirted with a few mundanes and I spend my days moving among them - never closer than that. I cannot say I know a single mundane like a friend."

Or did she? Wondered Aiedale as she resisted the urge to glance at Aragorn. Could she call that mundane a friend? Had the miles they had walked together in the company of the hobbits made them into friends or just reluctant allies? It seemed wrong to her suddenly to call him mundane. He was not ordinary and she had come to trust him. It was a subject for another time - maybe that night she would consider all the questions she had not had time to think of recently.

Gandalf snorted inelegantly, "Flirted?" With a stern look at the young woman he said, "From what I know of your people there are strict rules regarding love between mundanes and Shadowhunters."

"There are," confirmed Aiedale. "I was worried my aunt and uncle with my rebellious ways." A small smirk flitted across her face, "I dated the most ridiculously inappropriate boys just because I could." Before anyone could ask another question - inquire anymore about the life she guarded - Aiedale swiftly turned her eyes to the wizard and voiced one of her own, most pressing, questions.

"You do not know how my mother returned to my world?" asked Aiedale and her desire for the answer made her clench her hands in her lap tightly. Her finger nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm as if the pain would help ground her.

"No," said the wizard sadly, "we parted company after two weeks of travel together and I could only assume that she returned to your land." The wizard paused and then continued, "What I can say to you, Aiedale, is that after extensive research I have discovered two things.

"The first is this: time travels differently in each dimension. Sometimes it is faster and sometimes it is slower. I suspect that Middle Earth's clock runs faster than your own dimension's clock for your mother was never missing for two weeks or longer was she? Nor are you a century old and that is the last time I ever saw your mother."

"Not that I ever heard," said Aiedale as a small frown crossed her face. She knew little of her either her mother's or father's early lives. But the idea that, maybe, time flowed differently in one dimension then in another made sense - remarkably. Fixing her eyes on the wizard Aiedale asked, "The second thing?"

"Ah," said Gandalf with a small smile, "this is the most interesting part. You see, when your mother tried to create a portal it did not succeed. The runes were not strong enough to create a gateway between dimensions. Now," continued the wizard, "your mother determined that the only power strong enough to do something of this magnitude was an 'angel.'" The wizard glanced at Aiedale's face and saw that she was lost in thought. Her green eyes withdrawn and then, suddenly, she nodded.

"It sounds plausible when explained like that," she said calmly, "though I cannot fathom why an angel would send Nephilim tumbling through space and time. There is no clear purpose or reason for such a thing." Her eyes glittered ever so slightly as if with amusement, "I suppose this means I will have to wait and see. If portals created with a stele have no effect and you have no way of returning me then I am stuck here until..." her voice trailed off and, for the briefest of seconds, she looked as if this news was actually hard for her to bear. For a few brief seconds the mask slipped and they saw how it hurt her and how the worry was almost too much for her to bear. Then it was gone and the cool face was more in place.

"Until," she continued, "such a time as an answer presents itself." From the look on her face it was clear that she would expect an answer - or would chase it out and demand it.

Elrond spoke then, the elf lord who had been so silent suddenly speaking up from his place at the head of the table. "You are welcome in Imladris," his eyes found Aiedale's and in them she saw kindness, even understanding. She wondered if he to, at one point in his long life, had been without a way to return home or even one to return to and knew a little of how she felt.

"Thank you my lord," said Aiedale with a small smile of acceptance even as her words fell with the ease of long association with formality. The dinner continued then, more normal conversation returning between the elf lords and the two hobbits. Aiedale remained quiet, responding only when spoken to, her mind elsewhere and it was with some relief that she rose from the table with the others. Aragorn once more offered to escort her to her room and, sensing it would be rude to say no, she allowed it after extending her thanks once more to Lord Elrond and saying good night to the hobbits and the other elves.

It was Bilbo's voice which called her back. The elderly hobbit sent her kindly smile and asked in his cheerful voice, "Do you enjoy telling stories my dear?" asked the hobbit. There was something about him, maybe a depth of understanding, that made Aiedale stop and truly examine him and not lump him in with the likes of Merry and Pippen. He looked at her as if he understood - as if homesickness was no foreigner to him and neither was loss. Frodo had a little of that look, but in the clear eyes of his uncle she saw it more clearly. There was not the same endless pool of memories like there was in the elves and wizard - he was younger and yet his mortality lent him a understanding that she found oddly comforting.

"I have never been much of a story teller," said the young woman with a small smile. Her words much softer then she had originally planned on being. Then, feeling as if the question deserved a better answer, "I have few stories to tell except for a few legends and old tales."

The hobbit let out a light chuckle and clapped his nephew on the shoulder, "Then we will have to share some with you. Good night my dear." With that the hobbit turned away and Aiedale wondered what awaited her in this place. Story-telling? The last time she had told a story was when her brother had begged her for weeks. But she said none of this. She just accepted Aragorn's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her away from the dining table on it's raised dais.

The corridors were shadowed as the man walked the young woman back to her chambers. They past a few elves, but most had retired to their rooms or were out enjoying the moonlit gardens. Neither the Ranger or the Shadowhunter spoke until, just as they entered the corridor on which Aiedale's room was until Aragorn found he could not remain silent. There was a question that he had not found the right time to ask and now, as they were both alone, he could not resist asking it.

"Aiedale," he asked, "the knife, the one on Weathertop."

She glanced at him curiously, "What about it?" They had come to a stop in front of her closed door and one of her hands rested on the door handle. Moonlight spilled through the open balcony at the end of the corridor and candles, every few feet, cast shadows on the smooth white walls and floor.

"What was it?" he asked. "That was no ordinary blade."

"No," she said with a smile, "it is not a normal blade. We call them 'seraph' blades." Turning the door handle she said, "Wait a second and I will show you one." Opening the door she darted inside and went over to the bench on which she had sorted her weapons and other gear. Picking up the only seraph blade she had left, she returned the empty corridor where Aragorn was waiting for her. The moonlight glinted off the silver embroidery on his tunic, his face lit up a little when he saw the blade in Aiedale's hands.

"Careful," she told him, "they are not meant for mortal hands to hold."

"Why did it blaze so?" he asked as he leaned closer to examine the blade in Aiedale's hands as she held it up for him to inspect.

"Because I called it by the name it knows," she said. "Each seraph blade has a name and each one only works a couple times give or take."

"Thank you for showing it to me," said the ranger and, just as he went to ask how she was coping with all the news Gandalf had landed on her, Aiedale cut across him. The look in her eyes told him she guessed what he was about to say and her words from earlier returned: Shadowhunters never apologize for something that is not their fault. No doubt she wanted no expressions of sympathy from him and her following words only confirmed that.

"Good night," she said and, while the words were no colder or warmer than any before, he sensed that she wished to be left alone. That she had had enough of inquisitive questions and shocking revelations. So he allowed the door to close and he turned away, perhaps he walk around his favorite garden for a time...

* * *

Lord Elrond of Imladris was gazing, without really looking, out at the valley in which his city was nestled. It was growing late, the moon was high in the sky and the stars were out in all their splendor. But his mind was on other topics. For once it was not full of worries for the Ring or how they were going to defeat Sauron - those thoughts had been briefly pushed away and replaced by others all of which centered around one person.

Aiedale Darklighter.

A frown crossed his face as he concentrated on the few things he had squeezed out of Mithrandir and the things that Aiedale herself had said. Gandalf seemed to think that the presence of the young woman was important and that her skills would tip the balance in their favor - maybe even help save them as the world grew dark with shadow. Already the elf Lord was surprised, if not a little impressed, by the girl who had stepped up with little hesitation to partake of a dinner planned especially for meeting her.

Elrond drummed his fingers on the top of his large wooden desk. The air had grown chill with fall and, while he did not feel the cold, he could feel the cold shadow of dread for what was about to occur spreading across the land. Even here, in the protected valley of Rivendell, the shadow was extending its tendrils and soon war would come here – war was already coming here. Now, on top of everything else, a girl from another dimension who seemed too old for her years and too ready to fight if she felt the cause was worth her time. By all accounts her prowess in battle sounded almost outlandish. According Mirthrandir the things that both Estel and Frodo spoke of were common to her kind – normal even. The elf lord sighed heavily; he did not know what to make of all that was occurring these days. Things were changing. The world was changing. He did not know to which side the dice would fall nor how it would it all end. His ability to see the future was clouded – too many variables and choices on which too much rested for his eye to sort out even a hint of truth.

So now the Ring was here. The One Ring of Power, Sauron's greatest treasure and an object he had hoped never to see again. Carrying that Ring was a hobbit and, despite all that he could not do, Frodo of the Shire was as resilient to the dark call of the Ring than most could ever dream of being. Maybe it was his devotion to the Shire – a love that the Ring could not understand and therefore could not undermine. Perhaps it was something about Frodo, something about all hobbits, that made them both easy to forget and yet, when push came to shove, stronger than many great heroes of men and elves. He had made the mistake of underestimating Bilbo when he and thirteen dwarves arrived at their doorstep and already Frodo had proved much.

_And he rode in with Aiedale_, murmured a voice in his mind, _she and Estel brought him, and those that follow him, this far._

As he gazed at the window he wondered, not for the last time, what fate wanted with him and how the cards would be thrown when all was said and done. An image danced across his mind's eye of a girl standing in a guest bedroom of Imladris. Her hair was braided back and her dress fell around her in elegant folds. She was leaning on the window sill looking out at a quiet garden. Her face illuminated by a shaft of moonlight and her gaze calm, but there was grief in those eyes and open longing for something out of reach.

The image flickered and vanished. Elrond looked away. Past and present seemed to mix before his eyes. He saw what had been – both good and bad – and what would have to come. The fates a warrior girl, a Duendain Ranger, a golden ring and a dark haired hobbit were there. Hopes and fears mixed together - the courage of men when their home is threatened and, at the same time, the hidden weakness for a power that few mortals could resist. The fading light of the Eldar even as they turned their remaining strength to defeating this last evil no matter the cost and a once fair citadel of men where shadow crept ever nearer.

Elrond sighed once more. He was too tired to think of these matters now. Already he felt as if his mind was spinning in circles. Aiedale could keep her mysteries and what to do about the Ring would have to wait for the Council he had called in a few days. Besides both his daughter, Arwen Evenstar, and his foster son, Aragorn, were here and he wished to spend some time with the daughter who had been absent for so long and the son who spent his time walking difficult paths. Both of them may be determined to be bonded, but he would let time dictate the ending to it and not worry of this night when his heart was so heavy.

Rising from the comfortable chair he had spent many hours in ruling his kingdom, the elf Lord blew out the candles and opened the door back into the corridor.

* * *

Sleep would not find her that night. Her mind too filled with the words of the wizard to allow her the respite of sleep or the dreams that haunted her. So, as the sun rose fully and golden light spread out across the vast dome of the sky, she rose from her bed and dressed in her recently cleaned gear forgoing the jacket for the thin white shirt that she had been wearing underneath. Then, swinging from her large windows, she dropped onto the ground below where she landed with a soft thump in a patch of carefully tended flowers.

Wondering where she should go or if she wanted to go anywhere, Aiedale wandered the corridors and did her best to avoid the elves and their curious stares as she passed them in her strange clothes and face. She felt alone, so alone, and she half wished she knew where the hobbits – even Sam – were so she could enjoy company she at least was familiar with. The conversations the previous night had woken within her the few memories she had of her mother and father as well as only made her feel more trapped in this world. For trapped she was and not even a wizard could send her home. Yet, at the same time, conversation sounded so painfully annoying that she did not go seeking them out.

It was by accident that she ran into two of her traveling companions as she traced one long corridor close to her room. They were on their way to breakfast, but they quickly stopped and called out her name. It was Merry and Pippen, dressed in smart clothes and looking very cheerful, the two hobbits bounced up to her. For a brief moment she wished they would just go away – conversation was the last thing on her mind – but it was too late for that.

"How are you Miss?" asked Merry with a smile and a polite nod of his head.

"Well," she said and then expending more effort she smiled and asked. "How are you both?"

Pippen smiled that disarming, innocent smile up at her and said, "We have something we would like to say to you Aiedale." The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow and looked between the two hobbits with interest.

Merry looked suddenly uncomfortable, "We just wanted you to know...well just that." He seemed to realize that his words were not making any sense and that Aiedale was regarding him with amused interest. "We, that is to say, Pippen and I, want you to know how grateful we are to you for everything you did." He smiled at her, uncertainty shining through his nervous smile and large, puppy-like eyes.

"And we know we annoyed you," said Pippen without any of subtly displayed by his comrade. "But maybe you can forgive us? Maybe even friends?" His voice rising in eagerness and looking terribly similar to the young cousin she had left behind in Paris.

"Pip!" hissed Merry looking as if he might just throttle the young hobbit for his blunt words.

But the words had surprised Aiedale more than many things had these past few weeks and so her voice was temporarily stolen from her as she reeled mentally backwards. How could their brief acquaintance - made in such strange circumstances - have come to this point? She had saved their lives and she had stuck with them even though there had been nothing more than a faint promise of a wizard helping her home. They had been friendly, but kept their distance and that had been quite reasonable considering everything. These two certainly liked her more, and she them, then Sam. But that was it. She had been with them through experiences that had turned a faint trust into grudging respect then to something more - whatever this was. Yet now she had to decide on this : did she want to be friends with these cheerful, innocent creatures she had met up with and, against every instinct, helped to Bree and then onwards? Part of her did not want to make connections in a world she did belong in and, yet, the chances of returning to Earth were slim. Maybe it was time to set aside the aloof, cold Shadowhunter and show the world the other side of who she was. For she was a girl who loved to ride, to dance, to run across springy ground, to read while drinking a good cup of tea and who did not mind company when they were engaging.

They did, she thought as she looked at the pair, remind her so of her cousin and, to some extent, her brother. So, her heart saddened by these memories, she said. "I think I would enjoy being your friend."

The two let off a wild whoop of joy and began to dance around her as if this news was better than any they had received before. The sight of them made Aiedale laugh and the homesickness was left behind for a time as she was distracted by the hobbit's antics. Laughing she sent them off towards the breakfast table where they would, no doubt, eat enough food to feed a small army. Still, even as she wandered the gardens and corridors of Imladris, she did not feel quite so alone or desperate as she had before.

Noon found Aiedale still wandering the gardens of Imladris. Vaguely she wondered where the others were - Sam would be with Frodo who would probably be with his uncle. Aragorn could be anywhere and she had yet to meet an elf she knew. Choosing a seat on a bench she watched as the red, gold and yellow leaves of surrounding trees fluttered slowly to the ground. The sight reminded her of the trees in Paris, the flowering cherry trees, the towering oaks and many others that filled the parks and lined some of the more scenic streets. Surprised, Aeidale found herself blinking back tears at the thought of her home - of all that was there. She had at first hated Paris for it was so different from Alicante, but that hate turned to love as she came to discover the many hidden treasures and beautiful things that had been at one

Looking down at the smooth white pebbles of the garden path she fixed her eyes on one round stone until the tears receded. So much had happened these past weeks and there had not been time to think of the small things – things other than family or duty that she missed. Leaning back against the bench she allowed herself to think in the peaceful, still garden. She had been lost, found, chased, attacked, and had spent most of that time in a foul mood. Imladris was so beautiful, so soothing that she had found herself relaxing and that allowed the homesickness to flood her like a tidal wave. The tight, cold knot inside of her had grown and grown during that time even as she done her best to ignore it and be a Shadowhunter – push emotions aside until a better time to deal with had helped the Hobbits because it was what she was supposed to do and because she had hoped it would lead her down a path that would take her home. She had said yes to Merry and Pippen because they reminded her of her youngest cousin and brother. Aiedale missed them so much. She missed her mother and her father. She missed her aunt and uncle and the other warriors she had come to call comrade, even best friend, through the years.

Aiedale pressed one hand to her mouth and closed her eyes tightly even though the tears were leaking out anyway. She felt selfish and pathetic to cry like this, but it was too overwhelming and painful for her not to. It was as if her grief and homesickness was a tidal wave sweeping her out with it and crashing her against the iron hard cliffs of truth. Looking down at her hands she saw the scars and the runes hidden from everyone's eyes by glamour. She saw the stories behind each one and remembered the feeling of the stele as it bit into her skin. Each one a memory and she cherished those memories, the only link she had to her home was now those memories, her weapons and the pendant that always hung on her neck along with the heavy silver signet ring. They were things no one else could see – only her eyes and those who she told.

"Aiedale?"

The voice made her jump and she automatically tensed. The voice belonged to Aragorn and she found herself looking up into his grey eyes that, at this moment, were looking at her with concern. Glancing away Aiedale did her best to stop the flow of tears, to stem the tide of grief, and she was partly successful. Only a few tears rolled down her face now and she was able to reply to him in a reasonably steady voice, "Aragorn." The wave was held at bay for a little while longer, but she was only holding it together through sheer force of will.

The next thing she knew the man had slipped down beside her on the bench. His hand slipped around her shoulder and drew her closer. For a second she wanted to fight it, but a part of her wanted the comfort and so she did not resist but allowed herself to find the comfort his steady presence offered her pained heart.

"What troubles you?" he asked her softly.

A bitter laugh broke out of her, "You know what." Her words sounded harsher than she had intended them to be, but to her the question was silly. Aragorn knew; he had been there last night to hear Aiedale's hopes for a quick return home be dashed.

"I am a friend," he said mildly, "tell me."

As much as she did not want to invite more tears, more pain, she could not fight it forever now that she had allowed a little of it out. So, looking away from him, she murmured the words that had haunted her for the past few weeks in this land. "I miss home. I miss my friends, my brother, my cousins, and my city, and…" Aiedale forced herself to stop and breathe for saying all that she missed would not get her anywhere. Aragorn got the general meaning besides.

"What is wrong with that?" asked Aragorn in a soft voice that was attempting to be soothing. "There is no shame in weeping Aiedale. You have lost your home and those you love."

"But…" murmured Aiedale and then she found herself crying again. The tears coming fast again and she felt Aragorn's grip tighten around her shoulders until she was crying into his soft tunic. Aragorn's gentle words, the kind of soothing words she had received from her aunt and briefly from her mother, were her undoing. The emotions she had bottled up for so many long days seemed to pour out of her, and it shamed her to be so weak but she could not stop them. She cried for what she had lost by falling into this world, for the memory of parents she had barely known and for all that was wrong – utterly wrong – with this entire picture. She gave it free rein and felt it blow through her until, like all things, it came to an end and a small measure of peace took its place.

"Thank you," she murmured and Aiedale did her best to master the embarrassment that made her want to blush furiously. She could not meet his gaze, unwilling to see pity or any other sympathetic emotion that she found highly irritating no matter her emotional state.

But the ranger just smiled sadly and his eyes looked older than ever before. With one hand he brushed a tear that traced its way down her cheek and smiled a little. "Sorrow cannot stay locked away forever," he said, "and whatever you may think there is nothing weak about you."

"I have seen much," she murmured and in her eyes the ranger saw things that he could not guess at. There was nothing young about her and she spoke of death and pain as if they were old comrades. Then she shook herself and it was if by shaking herself a dark cloud lifted from her. Once more she was the girl he remembered and it surprised him to see it – the way she could turn away from the dark shadow of her life. One day he would ask her of it – one day he would ask how she had learned to move on with such efficient practicality. For his heart had seen many breaks, especially these last years when his people had struggled to survive, and despair was a cold shadow behind him.

"Come," he said, "the mid-day meal is soon and you were not at breakfast." He rose and offered her a hand, calloused by weapons, but she did not mind. He was a friend and, as much as she might not like saying it, this mundane seemed to be different than the rest. Perhaps she was right to give him her trust and show him, like the hobbits, the girl that lay beneath the armor and training.

* * *

Three days past. They were a busy three days in Imladris. Many representatives of the different races of Middle Earth converged on the elven kingdom. There were dwarves from Erebor, a group of wood elves from Mirkwood led by their prince, the son of Gondor's ruling Steward and a representative of Cirdan the Shipwright of the Grey Havens. A council had been called and many were seeking answers to the spreading darkness. They came at odd hours of the day and night, all appearing weary as if they had traveled a great distance in a very short time which, for many of them, they had. Only the Silvan elves, fair and bright eyed, seemed to be ready for anything and Aiedale watched with curiosity as they entered Imladris from a high balcony. They reminded her of Faeries with their shining hair and keen eyes though they held none of the dark, twisted malevolence that the Fey concealed beneath their fair faces.

During these days Aiedale did her best to keep herself busy if only to prevent her mind from turning once more to home. She spent long hours in the library reading and conversing with Erestor who, when he saw the eagerness with which she read, took her under his wing. The elf Lord enjoyed teaching and was more than happy to find such a willing audience who seemed to actually enjoy learning the history of a land as ancient as Middle Earth. Aiedale found herself eating meals with the hobbits and her relations with them warmed quickly – even Sam was heard to remark that she was a 'far sight nicer then he had thought.' Aragorn had invited her to the sparring field where she joined him and his foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, along with Glorfindel for friendly spars. She often found herself explaining a technique or move that they had never seen before. It was strangely comforting to spar like this and it amused her to surprise them with her speed, strength and the unique style that she called her own. As she came to find out the Last Homely House east of the Sea was a cure to all weariness, fear, and sadness. The longer she spent there the more she found herself relaxing as she only had in Alicante.

She encountered the wizard a few times during those days, but only shared brief words with him. He seemed to find her curious, but she found him to be one more painful reminder that home was just out of her reach. So she refused to be lured into his question/answer conversations and enjoyed thwarting his every attempt with cool ease. Aiedale had always been a good hand with words and she had practiced giving half answers in council meetings with all sorts of Downworlders and even Nephilim. As well as the wizard, Aiedale met Aragorn's love the daughter of Elrond. Arwen was as beautiful as she had heard and just as kind. It pleased the Shadowhunter to think of the Ranger loving this passing fair elf Lady who clearly loved him just as much right back.

The night of the feast was clear and the stars seemed particularly bright like diamonds scattered across the inky blackness. Aiedale was dressed by the elf maid who had been set to attend her and the dress she was presented with was finer than any she had ever worn. It was deep green that complimented her rich auburn hair and light green eyes. The cut was simple, but like all elvish dresses it was elegant without even trying. After thanking the maid she found herself walking down the corridors toward the hall where meals were held. She was half looking forward to it – she enjoyed parties but this one would be of a different feel than any she had ever attended before.

And it was. The feast was merry and the food all that any hobbit or Shadowhunter could ever desire. Many eyes looked at the high table where Aiedale was sat. Word of who she was and what she had done for the hobbit had spread and many had seen her spar. Now, dressed as elegantly as any elvish princess, she was a topic of many whispered conversations though she was unaware of it as she laughed and allowed herself free rein to enjoy herself among those she had come to know.

Stories and dancing followed along with much music. Then, only because of the Council the following morning and not because of any real tiredness, Aiedale retired to her room. She had danced long into the night with the Twins, Glorfindel and the hobbits. Not since the party in Alicante after the war with Valentine had she enjoyed herself as much and her dreams that night were not troubled but full of joy. The morning, she knew, would bring with it many dark and troubling things but they did not trouble her then. There was time to worry some other time.

* * *

_**Hello again! Here is another chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it...we are getting to the Council scene soon! **_

_**As always: big thanks to everyone who follows/favorites/reads/looks at this story. **_

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_**Lady Archer: No - it really is nice to get a little bit of a move on from readers. I will warn you though, this story might not be updated as frequently when school starts again :( but I will try! I am so glad you enjoy this story and it is a real pleasure to write it! **_

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	10. Chapter 10

There was no dress for Aiedale Darklighter the next morning or elaborate braids in her hair. Instead there was just the severe black of her fighting gear and the glimmering sapphire on its silver chair accompanied by a heavy silver signet ring. Her hair was back in its normal braid, the hair style too severe for her face and yet fitting to. She was attending a council of war and would; she had no doubt, be the only woman there. Let these men, elves, dwarves and hobbits see her strange weapons – or at least the ones she choose to show – and see that she was as different from them as they were from each other.

Ignoring the opportunity of breakfast she went immediately to the council room, following the directions given to her by Lord Elrond when he had originally asked her the second day of her stay in Rivendell. Through the corridors of Imladris she walked and tried her best not to feel that being armed to teeth was not only awkward, but probably against some rule in this place. She had yet to see anyone go openly armed except on the training field and that did not count.

She walked through the corridors of Imladris as the pale, cool morning sunlight streamed through the open windows and arches. Slanting through the silver mist; the dew on the rapidly changing leaves glimmering, and the woven nets of gossamer spider webs twinkled. The mountains, high and cold, were crowned with white snow.

But most of Imladris was at the dining hall and so she met only a few elves – all of who greeted her with murmured words and courteous nods of their heads – on her walk to the council room. She responded to these greetings, but did not stop to engage in any conversation. The elves secretly intimidated her with those far-seeing and deep eyes which seemed to look at her and pull all her secrets out. She did not show it, refused to even acknowledge her unease, but she treated them with the same care she treated the Fey of her own land even though elves did not seem to share anything with them. They did not seem to have the malicious streak that the Fey did – the streak that could lead a Shadowhunter to a cruel death.

Aiedale came to a stop as she arrived at her destination. The morning light bathed the stone council room with bight fall light and belied the seriousness of what was to be discussed here very soon. Aiedale examined the terrace with a critical eye, unable to stop herself from comparing it to the council rooms she was used to. A circle of chairs surrounded a stone pedestal, a high-backed chair was placed behind it – most likely Lord Elrond would sit there. From each place, no matter where one sat, each person would be able to see all others, and each would have a clear view of the Ring.

_A long table in a darkened library with matching dark wood, high backed chairs on which weapons were hung as Shadowhunters milled about talking with each other in low voices as they waited for the meeting to begin…_

Moving towards the opposing row of chairs, she heard a faint scuffle and a smirk grew across her face. On silent feet she moved towards the thick stone pillars from which the noise had emanated. Turning so she faced towards the pedestal and leaning against a pillar she whispered softly, "You should move towards the alcoves over there they have better shadow than the pillar."

Without glancing around she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing as the scuffling went silent. This meeting would not be boring now. Hobbits, she had discovered, had a remarkable talent for mischief making. Not that she had been any better when she had been younger and desperate to know what was discussed behind closed doors in the elegant council room where her elders had closeted themselves for hours at a time.

Leaving the pillar she choose a chair and began to twirl a knife with one hand in boredom as, slowly, the other chairs began to be filled. She chose to ignore those who began to arrive in favor of simply examining the delicate carvings along the tops of each pillar. Occasionally she would glance around and see who had chosen a seat. There were dwarves – she had seen them the previous night – and various elves as well as a mundane with a proud, almost arrogant, face. He had the air of someone who has traveled a great distance very quickly and, on a baldric, a hunting horn tipped with silver was laid across his knees. She could make out runes, in a strange language, carved into the horn and she had the feeling it was very old.

At last Lord Elrond accompanied by Glorfindel, Gandalf and Aragorn entered to take the remaining seats. Aragorn was to Aiedale's right and Erestor to her left. She was glad that they were by her side acting as buffers between those she did not know.

Elrond remained standing and spread his arms in greeting. "I have called all of you here for a reason, by chance it may seem, you have arrived just in time. I welcome all of you and ask that you introduce yourselves so that all may know of who sits here and the place they come from."

Aiedale was one of the last. When it came her turn to speak she did so clearly and with no hesitation, "I am Aiedale Darklighter. My land," she paused and then said simply, "is not one you would be familiar with, any of you, but it is no stranger to darkness and I have journeyed far to reach this place." And she had, thought the young woman, though it was not a journey she had wished to take nor imagined taking. It was not a journey easily spoken of in this place either and she could see various expressions of curiosity crossing the gathered group's faces.

"A girl?" asked Lord Boromir turning his eyes to look at Lord Elrond with confusion. For, while the son of the Steward had heard a little of the skill and many accomplishments of the young woman and even seen her dancing the previous night, he could not set aside the things he had been taught. One of those things had been, most emphatically, that women did not attend councils of war nor did they fight as this young one seemed to. It was, therefore, impossible for him not to ask the question.

Lord Elrond did not have a chance to reply. Aiedale choose to. She had, in contrast to Lord Boromir, very different ideas about what women should and could do. In a voice made dangerous by its calm she smiled sweetly at the man even as her words fell heavy on the air. "Why shouldn't I be here?"

Boromir looked at her and, for a moment, he felt a twinge of uneasy. "You are very young," he said gently, "and you are a woman. The things we will discuss today are not suitable for your ears – for any woman's ears." He spoke them from a good place – he did not mean to insult her for he had been raised to be, at all times, polite and courteous.

Aiedale saw this. She even, to some extent, respected it. However, that did not mean she was not going to challenge his words. Continuing in her even voice she met his gaze and held it with steely determination.

"Perhaps you are right," she said and beside her Aragorn winced at the hard steel in her voice. Only a fool or an oblivious hobbit would think that her tone meant she was harmless. "But perhaps you will change your mind when I tell you this: I was born to stand against darkness and to fight it. I have handled weapons since I was a young child and took my first mission when I was twelve. I have watched comrades die and willing stepped in front of others to save them. I have seen entire, innocent families murdered merely because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time or did not understand what world they had entered. I have fought in a battle some called hopeless, but was won still and I continue to fight in a battle others call endless with no hope of success. I carry the guilt of failure and my heart has endured many breaks. I have seen both my mother and father lay down their lives and been taught what it means to sacrifice." She paused and let the words hang for a moment before adding a soft challenge, "Can you claim as much?"

Boromir was not sure what to say but, before he could manage anything, Aiedale added in her dangerously soft voice. "One day, soon, I will not be fast enough or clever enough. Like those who have come before me – like the ones I was not fast enough to save - I will fall and give my life in the name of duty and sacrifice. Do you still think to call me young?" A scornful smirk twisted her lips, "Do you still think to call me weak? Or unworthy of being a member of this Council?"

A dangerous silence settled between the Shadowhunter and the Lord. The dwarves and elven representatives who had not yet met Aiedale were unsure what to do or if they should do anything at all. There was a coldness in Aiedale's face and voice that made all who did not know a little of her afraid of her suddenly – even those who did felt uneasy. It was the calm of it; the vengeful and passionate anger was trapped beneath a layer of ice that could, at any moment, shatter. The dwarves would have said she was an unsteady rock that, when stepped upon, would suddenly shift and send you tumbling into a swift current.

Firmly and with a stern glance at both the Shadowhunter and the Lord, Elrond turned attention back to more important matters. "You have all done well to come," he said, "no that none of you stand alone nor is this fight won or lost. By the end of this council you will all understand the Shadow's actions and the course of action that must be taken." His speech was grave, compelling and it made Aiedale lean forward slightly as she began to commit every word, every name and battle, to memory.

And it began.

The Council of Elrond traced the history of the Ring through the ages of Middle Earth from the forging in the Second Age of the world to the Battle Dagorlad before the Black Gate of Mordor. How Isildur had cut the Ring from Sauron's hand with the hilt-shard of his father's sword and taken it for his own. Then how the Ring survived through the ages but how the world had withered even as the Shadow was beaten back. He spoke of unity and how if the races of Middle Earth, different as they were, did not unite then they would all fall.

When Elrond finished speaking the dwarves explained their mission and Boromir, anxious to defend his ancestors, spoke of how the land of Gondor had done its best not to forget all the pride or dignity of Numenor even as the power of the Black Land grew. Aiedale noted that the man was excellent speaker, his voice carried strongly and it was clear that he was used to being at the center of attention. His words stopped after he briefly summarized his journey and the dream which had sparked it and Boromir turned his gaze to the elf Lord who sat quietly, his brows drawn together in thought as he listened.

It was then, turning his gaze to Frodo that Elrond said, "Bring out the ring Frodo."

The hobbit hesitated for a long moment; it seemed as if showing the Ring to those present was somehow a mistake. His eyes, searching for reassurance, flickered from the wizard who nodded encouragingly to Aiedale who was gazing at him with those steady eyes. Something in them gave him the courage that had failed him before and, despite his reluctance to even touch the simple golden band with his hand, the hobbit drew it out and held the golden band up before all those present in one, slightly trembling, hand. The Ring glittered as if it knew, somehow, that it was on display. It seemed to fill the air with faint whispers, so faint that it was almost unnoticeable.

"The One Ring," said Gandalf solemnly.

It was Boromir who broke the hushed silence that had fallen as Frodo placed the Ring on the stone pedestal and then quickly drew back. His eyes glinting with some emotion he murmured, "The Halfling! Is the doom of Minbas Tirith come at last?"

Then he rose and with slow steady steps he began to circle the pedestal and spoke in that strangely hushed voice, "Isildur's Bane. Let me take it to Gondor and it will aid us in our battle against Sauron!" In his eyes a strange light awakened and his hand moved towards the Ring but, before he could touch it, Gandalf reacted. His movement surprisingly fast for such an ancient looking man even as he began to speak in a language so dark and terrifying that Aiedale closed her eyes and felt the handle of a knife with one hand. It reminded her of the foul language spoken by demons of which she knew only a few dialects, but this one was even crueler and more vicious then those. This one seemed to make the air freeze and the sky darkened. It was menacing and as harsh as stone against stone. The elves paled and some covered their ears while the dwarves stamped their boots as if trying to block the noise.

"Never has the language of Mordor been spoken here," said Elrond and, while he looked pale, his voice snapped with a reprimand equal to any that Aiedale's aunt could have spoken.

"I shall not apologize Master Elrond," said the wizard as he withdrew back to his seat. "For soon, if we do not act, that foul language will spread even as the darkness does. It is that darkness we must fight and we would be fools to ignore it any longer."

For a moment Aiedale was tempted to speak, she half wanted to, but it did not seem right. This was not her fight nor her world and she had little to do with its' saving. To Aiedale it seemed that this Council was going nowhere – they needed a decision and a path upon which to act. Shadowhunters, for all their petty ways and politics, seemed more effective at such matters then any who sat here.

Boromir – who seemed not to have gotten the hint – raised his hands in a placating gesture as he pleaded his case once more. "What will Gondor do? Our sacrifices have kept the darkness back but we cannot stand forever. We are hard pressed and soon, too soon, the tower of Minas Tirith will fall. Let us use it against Sauron." That his pain was genuine was clear to all and his love for his homeland equally obvious. Aiedale felt a flicker of respect for him even though, after his actions, she could not find any place within herself to like him. His voice may have been impassioned and his tongue silver, but it had little effect on her.

"You cannot wield it," stated Aragorn simply and his voice suddenly rang with command even as he seemed to grow and shift into that other side of himself – the King part of himself Aiedale decided. "Only Sauron can wield it."

"What," demanded Boromir, "do you, a Ranger of the North, know of this matter?" It was clear that he doubted Aragorn, that he could not see what stood before him and that blindness made Aiedale angry. She had come to count the ranger mundane as a friend and she did not like it when her friends were insulted.

'This is Aragorn son of Arathorn," said Elrond sternly and it was clear he wished this matter had not gotten in the way of other, more important, ones. "He is descended from Isildur who was Elendil's heir and, by right of birth, heir to the throne of Gondor as well as Chieftain of the Dunedain."

Boromir did not speak, though his feelings were clear upon his face. He did not feel the need to offer any kind of respect or loyalty to the lean Ranger dressed in elvish clothes no matter what sword hung at his side or what roads he had walked. Aiedale felt like punching him. Once more she had to carefully detach herself from the situation lest she act on her impulses and gave the man a broken nose. Somehow she didn't think it would be good for her personal relations…

Once more talk was firmly turned back to the One Ring and Galdor of the Grey Havens voiced his own questions even as the dwarves did there's. Aiedale closed her eyes briefly. Such talk of doom and great deeds made her feel rather uncomfortable – Shadowhunters did not deal with such things. They kept to the straightforward path of action and consequence where honor or glory held no place. She listened as Bilbo began to speak and explained how, after so many centuries, the Ring had fallen into his care. It was in this part of the tale that Aiedale found herself sitting a little straighter as she came to understand why, out of all the hobbits she had so far met, Bilbo was both the most experienced but also the most understanding of her situation.

She did not bother with listening too closely as Frodo spoke, haltingly, of his journey to Rivendell and she felt only a small twinge of appreciation for the neat way he avoided discussing exactly how she had joined his small group. The warrior felt no need to speak nor to comment until the matter of Sauroman's betrayal - one of the wizards of Gandalf's order – was brought up and how Gandalf had been held hostage by his once friend. She could not stop herself from snorting, it was the kind of thing warlocks in her land would do and it only made her surer that trusting Gandalf would be a mistake. What if he proved as changeable as this old ally of his?

Then, at last, that a course of action was decided upon: the Ring had to go South. Now it was just a matter of who would take it and on that issue there were so many contentious voices that Aiedale found herself wanting to scream with frustration. It was on par with a few of the more insane Downworlder meetings she had attended as a mediator and that was saying something. Even thinking about what it was like to have a vampire and a werewolf in the same room as a Faerie Queen and a warlock made her wince. However, just like then, everyone had an opinion and everyone wanted it heard – all except for Elrond, Frodo and Bilbo. Even Gandalf had entered the fray, his own voice speaking with frustrated anger as he reminded all present of the end goal: destroy Ring in fires of Mount Doom. Aragorn and Boromir were beginning to actually look like they might fight and it didn't take a wizard to know that Aragorn would have had the support of all the elves – especially the Prince of Mirkwood.

So she gave up and stared, angrily, at what seemed such a smug little bit of gold. If rings could wear a satisfied smirk then this one would be. She much preferred her own silver signet ring that hung beside her large sapphire pendent. It didn't whisper and it was highly useful in certain situations. This Ring on the other hand...A headache brought on by the shouting and the whispering darkness of the Ring made her close her eyes briefly. What she wouldn't do for a bit of hunting right now to rid herself of her irritation…

A voice rang out. It was a small voice and it didn't really ring. Maybe it was because it was small and the person who spoke looked so nervous and yet so determined that people just had to stop and listen. As it was the speaker did not really think it was his voice at all, it sounded so strange to him and went against every instinct in his heart and every dream he had ever dreamt.

"I will take it," said Frodo and then he seemed to realize that everyone from the wood elves to the dwarves to the men to the wizard were all staring at him in stunned silence.

Aiedale sat forward, her eyes widening as she stared at this little hobbit in downright astonishment. What was he thinking?! Did he listen? Had he not already heard what kind of journey he was setting out on, a journey were everything was against them and the chance of success was so slim that only a Shadowhunter would think it was there?

"I do not know the way," continued Frodo and his voice, while small, seemed to grow in strength and determination. "But I will take it. It has come to me as Bilbo's heir," he glanced at his pale, wide eyed uncle, "and I will see it done." He had risen and was standing before the pedestal, his little face lifted up and his hands clenched at his sides. The silence was stifling and no one seemed to know what to say.

Aiedale couldn't stop herself, "What?" Her voice rising with stunned anger, "You will do what?"

Everyone whipped around, everyone who had forgotten the silent black clothed girl suddenly remembering her cold words and old eyes which now flashed dangerously. "You are a hobbit," she continued in a quickly rising voice, "and I did not save your little life to have you go and volunteer for something that will get you killed!" It was true – she had worked long and hard keeping this little hobbit and this stupid piece of jewelry safe and she did not want it all to go to waste nor did she want him thinking he was forced into the job. It had to be his choice, he had to face her and tell her that it was without any doubt or he would not see it done.

Frodo didn't know what to do, but somehow he found a voice. So, trembling, he swallowed and said, "I will take it." His words were firm and, despite the small quiver to his mouth, there was no doubt that he meant what he was saying.

Aiedale looked at him hard and long before she nodded once. "Fine," she said coldly, "I understand."

"It is a heavy burden," warned Elrond. "So heavy that none could lay it on another and I do not lay it on you. But," said the elf lord and his grey eyes were keen as they looked at the hobbit, "if you take it freely then it would be the right choice and the only choice for the Ring."

"You will not go alone," said Gandalf coming up to stand behind the hobbit. "I shall go with you and show you the way."

"And I," said Aragorn. "For I have stood by you before and I shall do it again. Besides," he said with a faint smile, "my road would take me this way anyways and better to travel with good company then by oneself."

"I will go," said Legolas of Mirkwood and his fair elvish face was set with determination. "This is a matter that involves all in Middle Earth." His deep crystal blue eyes unreadable and his fine bow slung across his back. His traveling companions, three proud and silver haired elves, looked on grimly as did the other elves who knew him well like Glorfindel and Erestor.

"If the elf goes," came the booming voice of the youngest looking dwarf who had been introduced as Gimli who had argued so passionately against an elf carrying the Ring. "Then I will go to." The elf prince looked for a moment rather pained before his face turned blank.

"I too will go," said Boromir with a quick glance at Aragorn. "For this journey will either save or destroy my land and perhaps it will lead me home in time to do whatever can be done." With that he took his place beside the wizard who stood behind Frodo along with the dwarf and elf.

"What about us?" came the sudden voice of three hobbits who all tumbled out from their various hiding places.

"You can't send him off without us!" cried Sam.

"Of course we will go!" said Merry looking as if the suggestion of not going was incredibly insulting.

Elrond looked as if he was tempted to groan in irritation, but the elf lord restrained himself and settled for a long look at Gandalf who just shrugged. "I suppose," said the elf Lord and it was clear that he would rather have spared the three hobbits from the journey that lay before them. "It is hardly possible to separate you from him when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not!"

The hobbits didn't look at all discouraged nor at all put out to be standing next to such great warriors and heroes. They seemed merely glad to be standing by their friend who looked a little less grim to have the three with him. Aiedale had to stifle her amusement and she could barely keep herself from smiling at the sight of the four small hobbits next to the shining elf, the hardy dwarf and the towering man of Gondor with his proud face.

Gandalf turned and looked at her. Aiedale inwardly groaned. No! She knew what that look meant, could see the request written in those eyes as clearly as she could see the sun.

"Aiedale?" asked the wizard quietly and yet there was a firm demand in those words. A demand that made her instantly resent him and rebel. She had not forgiven him for being unable to help her and she was in no mood to give him anything – if Frodo or Aragorn or even Sam, Merry or Pippen had asked then she might have agreed but they had not and so she would not offer.

"No," she said in her coldest voice even as her conscious twinged with pity for Frodo. All eyes were on her.

"I know only a fraction of your capabilities," said the wizard, "I would be a fool not to know your value on a mission like this." His gaze was focused and all in the Council room seemed to hold their breath as the old wizard and the young warrior met each other's wills. All, even those who knew Aiedale a little like the hobbits or even Glorfindel, wondering what skills the wizard spoke of and why he was so desperate to retain her loyalty. "If you come with us we may find a way for you to return…"

It was a dirty trick on the part of the wizard and it angered Aiedale more than she showed to the Council. "Tell me Gandalf," she said, "did my mother ever tell you this? It is a lesson all Shadowhunters learn early: everything has a price." Her eyes flickered to Frodo and then back again, "Already I have done more than many Nephilim in this position would have. For what? A vague explanation that you gave with no promise?"

Aiedale felt her desperation rise within her even as she forced herself to argue with the wizard. She wanted to go home and it did not feel right to leave Frodo like this. But nor did she want the wizard to think she came freely or that, at the end, she could just be discarded with no strings attached. She wanted a promise as binding as any oath she gave in the name of the Angel and she would settle for no less. It was not the chance of danger or death that made her hold back, but the idea that she was just expected to sacrifice for something that, in the end, she did not really care about. Her life was given to another world and another duty – there had to be a reason for her to shift it.

"I promise I will help you return to your land in any way I can," said the wizard seriously without a trace of a lie in his deep grey eyes.

"How do I know you will keep that promise?" demanded the warrior and she ignored the gasps uttered by a few of the elves at her accusing tone. "When I give my loyalty I will not step away, no matter the circumstance, and I want the same promise from you. I want to know that my service will be compensated." Aiedale had eyes only for the wizard and she did not care if her words or demands were shocking.

"Upon my word," said the wizard, "as Gandalf the Grey, a wizard of Middle Earth, before all those present today, I swear that I will do all in my power to see you, Aiedale Darklighter, returned to your own land." The silence that fell as the words faded away like hammer blows was thick and so complete that Aiedale could hear the faint thud of her heartbeat.

She knew that was an oath as binding as she could hope to get. Once more she turned her eyes to Frodo and she saw the fear, the determination and the pure innocence - the joy - he felt in life written there as clearly as the sun. It wasn't fair what he was going to have to do and she knew how unfair life could be. Glancing at Aragorn she remembered the friendship that he offered her and she did not even want to look at the hobbits that seemed to her like copies of the brother, the cousins, she had left behind. It was as if she had no choice. She didn't. They needed her and she needed them – needed to find a way home just as she had needed to go with them the first time she met them.

Walking forward, Aiedale kneeled before Frodo who was looking at her with wide, confused eyes. Drawing out a slender seraph blade she held it up to the hobbit and said, without glancing at the wizard, the oath that no Shadowhunter would ever break. "I, Aiedale Darklighter a sworn member of the Nephilim, swear by the Angel Raziel that I will stand by you in this journey until my death or you no longer require my assistance." As she spoke the blade flickered with white light and it seemed to all present that they had just witnessed something they could not understand nor had ever heard of before. Which they had not. The name 'Raziel' or the oaths of a Shadowhunter were not something Middle Earth had ever heard or felt before.

Frodo did not know what to say. He could not find any words that could even come close to expressing the emotions he felt inside. There was relief that this fierce warrior was standing beside him, but also fear and determination. Acting on impulse, unaware of what he was doing, the young hobbit stretched a hand out and touched the slender shoulder of Aiedale. Her eyes never leaving his and then, quietly, the hobbit said, "Thank you." Then not knowing why or how he knew the name was important to her only that hobbits often shortened names, "'Day."

Her eyes widened and he somehow knew that the name "Day" was a nickname – the kind of name her brother or friends might have called her and, by saying it, he had both accepted her as his guardian but as a friend.

Aiedale could not help it, she laughed even as her heart twinged painfully. "Ah hobbits," she said with a faint smile as she rose and slipped the knife away, "I thought I knew all there was to know about you. Yet," she glanced over the determined faces of the other three Halflings, "I think I will never really understand you."

Before any more could be said or any questions asked, she turned and left. But even as she left the council room and made her way to a secluded garden she had come to like, Aiedale could not stop her heart from speeding up with adrenalin. She was on the move once more; she had a purpose and a road to follow. In the end, no matter how terrible the journey or how bittersweet that ending, she was a Shadowhunter and warriors of shadow are not meant to sit idle while there is darkness to be fought and friends to be saved.

_"What would you do for your brother?" asked her eldest cousin as he sorted through a pile of throwing knives. _

_"Anything," was her immediate response, "everything." Then after a brief pause, "The same for you and everyone else – you are my family to. What about you?" _

_He turned and his blonde hair caught the candle light as his intense blue eyes – so like his father's own eyes - met her own. "Anything," he said and a small smile flickered across his face. "Everything. No matter where I had to go or what I had to do." _

* * *

**_I am sorry this took so long but, too put it mildly, my life went to pieces two weeks ago and then everything was (sort of) back together only for it to happen all over again two days ago. One of the few reliefs I have had has been in my horses. So writing has been on the back burner and school, horses and traveling + competing at horse shows have taken priority until I finally realized that writing was a pretty important piece of who I am and I had better start doing it again. So I wrote this chapter in a couple of hours and I really want to thank all of my readers - I write it for fun but it is your comments that inspire me. _**

**_Review Replies: _**

**_Lady Archer: Awe you are the awesome one! I am sorry if this chapter feels strange - it was a rushed composition and I hope I did a decent enough job on this scene. It is one of my favorites to :) thank you for the review _**

**_Flames of Youth: Glad you like it! Yes - I think that scene will be epic! :) Thanks for the review and I hope you don't mind this rushed bit of chapter posting. _**

**_LittleNK: you can decide for yourself: did she or didn't she kick his ass? I guess she sort of did! _**

**_Thank you for the favorites/follows/reads! _**


	11. Chapter 11

The time Aiedale spent in Imladris was both unendingly boring and rather soothing to her frazzled nerves – if that was possible to be both bored and feel soothed to. However, she was bored and sometimes it made her want to scream. She lived for the night. She lived for the wild dance club parties where she hunted demons and the knowledge that she might not see the dawn. She missed the adrenalin rushes and the chance to truly test her skills in a life and death situation. In Imladris she was lucky not to get bored sparring and it irked her that she had to spend a large amount of time evading pointed questions from a certain man of Gondor.

No - two months had been far too long for her liking.

Of course there was a purpose to it. Patrols of elves had gone out searching for the Nazgul and ensuring – as much was possible – that the route chosen by Elrond and Gandalf to Mordor was free of the nastier creatures that had slunk out of the shadows since Sauron's return. Aiedale had wanted to go on these patrols, but was never invited for reasons she could only guess at - the reasons she did come up with were so insulting she did not like to think about them.

But she needed to do something.

She was desperate to alleviate her boredom and the bad mood that came with it, so, feeling a little like a thief in the night, she left on her own scouting missions. She told no one of these 'excursions' and, if those close to her noticed that she seemed to spend less time brooding, they put it down to something else. It was not really a hunt of any kind or a planned thing; she just took her weapons, marked herself with her stele and went.

It was, as she ran silent as a shadow through the darkened woods and into the wilds of the North, that Aiedale found the grief lessening. She could not outrun it forever, but she could darn well try. It was all left behind: the quest, the homesickness, the promises and the confusing people who surrounded her.

But, the second she slowed down, it would all come crashing back in like lead weights on her shoulders. It would make her gasp for air and force herself to start running again if only to escape it once more. Run, she would whisper to herself, run and maybe the world will be alright when you stop again. Friendship offered by hobbits and the ranger was only good for so much. It could not prevent her from boiling over with suppressed energy which, added to her emotions, only made things worse.

On a few of these runs through the pitch black night, she would encounter orcs or the occasional warg and it was then that she gave full rein to her Shadowhunter training. Reveling in the feeling of moving so fast and with such agility that - had any of her sparring partners seen her - they would have been shocked. As the sky grew lighter with approaching dawn she would turn her steps back towards Imladris, evading patrols of elves with ease and slip through her window just as the first rays of the sun stained the sky red. She would be down to breakfast looking as if she had not been out for the entire night and her smile widening whenever she was asked how she had slept.

At last, after what seemed an age of this routine, it was time for them to depart. Routes had been scouted, bags packed and there was no more reason to delay.

The fellowship had been outfitted with clothes, whatever weapons they desired and other supplies that would, if not all the way to Mordor, last them until they came to someplace they could replenish them. Bill the pony who, according to Sam, would pine if he was left behind would come with them and help carry the load. The once sad, dejected creature seemed to have regained some youth in Imladris and his coat, while thick and hairy for winter, had a new shine to it. His eyes, once dull, now glinted and his ears were perked as he stood beside the hobbit.

The morning of departure dawned bright, a winter sun casting its light down on the frosted courtyard of Imladris. No snow fell in the hidden valley nor did the temperatures sink too low, but this morning was chilly. The sky was a pale blue and the sun's rays held little warmth. To Aiedale it was invigorating, the chill air making her feel alive and ready to leave. If it had been her in charge of this expedition, they would have left well before dawn and already be well on their way. No matter if Sam was worried about not having any rope.

As it was, after a final sendoff dinner held in the Hall of Fire and the final mad rush of packing, they were still here. Aiedale had to content herself with tapping her foot against the stone and trying not to scowl. She was working on her patience, she knew that it was unreasonable to expect Shadowhunter standards from those who did not know the kind of level Aiedale held herself to, but so far she had been only partially successful.

Trying to distract herself, Aiedale glanced around. She was back in her familiar gear with a thick elvish cloak thrown about her shoulders and all her weapons were where they should be. The cloak was thick and warm, even better was its deep hood that, when pulled on, not only hid her distinctive auburn air but covered her face in shadow. Boromir, his shield across his back and his horn by his side, was standing close to the pony. Frodo was there to and so was Merry and Pippen. Aragorn had yet to appear and Gandalf was just stepping away from where he had been speaking with Lord Elrond. Elves milled around, ensuring that all was ready for their departure and, to Aiedale's annoyance; many of them were singing some tune in Sindarin. At another time she might have thought it hauntingly beautiful, but now she just found it to be irritating background noise.

_A stone courtyward where a silent group of black-clothed warriors waited for final instructions from the tall figure of the Silent Brother who oversaw this particular mission…_

Knowing that she had to – if only to express gratitude for his hospitality – Aiedale navigated around the elves and towards Lord Elrond. She was unused to goodbyes, they were a foreign language to her and so, remembering something a warlock had once told her, she stopped in front of Elrond and inclined here head slightly before him. Reading of his role in the past of this world had made her respect the lord that stood before her and his deeds - she could justify this much courtesy at least.

"Mizpah," she said with a faint smile as she met the silver eyes of Elrond. Glorfindel stood to his left, his golden hair catching the sunlight and glinting like polished gold. The identical twins, Elladan and Elrohir, stood quietly to their father's right and their sister was saying her own farewells to Legolas a little ways away.

"Excuse me?" said Elrond with a raised eyebrow. His robes fell in elegant folds around him, but there was an air of a warrior watching an army leave without him.

"A sort of goodbye without saying goodbye," said Aiedale. "Thank you for housing me and all your kindness." The words were formal, but right and she was glad to say them. Aiedale didn't like debts and she did not want to leave unfinished business in this place – she hoped never to return.

"You are welcome," said the elf Lord and his eyes, deep and knowing, lingered on her face with open curiosity. He wondered, as he had many times since her arrival, what her purpose was.

With a last nod to the elves standing behind him, Aiedale turned and made her way towards the hobbits. She studiously ignored Boromir, and waited as patiently as she could for the fellowship to fully gather so they could leave. Beyond the borders of Imladris it was winter and Aiedale already felt that they had lingered far too long. Frodo seemed to feel this to, his face was pinched with worry and he stayed very close to his friends as if drawing comfort from their familiar presence. He must have already said farewell to his Uncle for the elderly hobbit was nowhere in sight and she could not help but wonder how Bilbo felt about his nephew doing this task.

Aragorn appeared then, and Aiedale could not help but notice the way he refused to look at Arwen even as the stunning elf-maiden gazed at him with something close to desperation. Aiedale knew quite a bit about romance, enough boy friends had taught her some things, but she did not know anything of love so deep it would stand in front of such irreconcilable differences as the love between Estel and Arwen. However, something had happened between the two and Aiedale wondered at it even as she knew it was not her place to comment on it.

Moving over to where the man was fiddling with a knot already expertly tied by elven fingers, Aiedale asked in a low voice. "You should say something to her."

"All has been said," was the quick reply, but the man's eyes strayed toward his beloved before flicking back down to the knot. "She will leave with her people." The sword of Elendil, forged anew by elvish smiths, hung by his side and, with the dawn light on his face, he looked more kingly than ever before. Or just more stupid, thought Aiedale.

"Oh please," said Aiedale with enough annoyance to make Aragorn glance up at her in surprise. Her voice, while never rising, was practically burning with her impatience, "go up and talk to her. She loves you. You love her. Don't be an absolute idiot."

"But…" said Aragorn as he tried to explain himself. There was so much to explain and how could he ask Arwen to give up her immortality and her family for him?

He was silenced by a glare so angry and impatient that he didn't dare say anything. 'Go," she said coldly, "or I will drag you over there myself."

Aragorn had no doubt she would and, as much as he had tried to deny the feelings, he could not. So, feeling terribly conflicted, he did go and say the farewell he had wanted to say, but would have denied himself and Arwen had it not been for the Shadowhunter. The words they whispered to each other on that frozen winter morning would stay with him and give him hope, a little comfort, on the long journey before him.

Aiedale watched the couple with a satisfied smirk on her face. To her – used to watching the lives of people around her fizzle out like sparklers – there was no point leaving things unsaid when it was clear they were felt by those involved.

Gandalf moved then and the company gathered, all preparations completed and even goodbyes not meant to be said had been given. A wind from the west had risen and it made the dry winter branches rustle with their remaining leaves. It seemed, to Aiedale, to be murmuring: go! Go and make haste!

Boromir, his sword at his side, raised his horn then and said, "Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills. Let all foes of Gondor flee when they hear its call!" Putting it to his lips he blew a blast, and the echoes leapt from rock to rock, and all that heard it found themselves suddenly ready for something – some action though they knew not what it was.

"Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir," said Elrond sternly.

Maybe, thought Aiedale sourly, she should tell him the story of the Shadowhunter who had blown a horn at the start of a mission and told ever single blasted demon within ten miles where he was.

"This is my last word," said Elrond and all present gazed at the elf Lord who stood like a remnant of another age when horn's like Boromir's had been heard calling out against the darkness of Sauron. "You go as free companions to assist the Ring-bearer on his quest. No oath or bound is laid on you to go further than you will."

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," said Gimli. The dwarf stood, as immovable as stone, with his giant axe slung across his back and his beard braided in the style of his people. He looked like some bit of mountain stone carved roughly by some artisan and then plunked down in the middle of Imladris, so out of place among the graceful elves.

"Look not too far ahead," said Elrond and his words were gentle, but clear in the crisp air. "But hold to hope and may the blessings of all Free Folk go with you."

With that they turned away. The time had come to set out and so they did as the winter sun warmed their backs a little. Gandalf walked in front and Frodo was beside him. Farewells were called out from behind them from those who remained and one fair elvish voice, perhaps it was Arwen's, sang out a fair melody that stayed with them until they crossed the bridge and notes were too faint for even Shadowhunter ears.

Falling into step beside Legolas at the back of the small party, she did not bother with looking back at the glowing elf haven. The road stretched out before them – inviting and dangerous at the same time. Aiedale felt a wide smile growing across her face for that was just the way she liked her life. She liked it to have a clear purpose and she liked danger for it added spice to the game she had been trained to play. This was just another game. One more move she had to make and execute perfectly on the chess board of the world.

She would win.

Checkmate.

* * *

They stopped once for lunch and then again when the sun was resting at the rim of the horizon and it was clear that the hobbits had reached their limit. Camp was made in a small hollow and Sam, who was an excellent cook no matter the circumstance, began to cook a meal over a small fire. It was too dangerous in Aragorn's opinion, but Gandalf had felt that, at least so close to Rivendell, they would be able to get away with the light and smoke. Later on, warned the wizard, they would have to eat their food cold rather than risk unwanted attention.

The country they had been moving through was rough and barren than the land on the other side of the range of mountains. Like the country she had traveled to on her way to Imladris, Aiedale found it oddly beautiful and its wildness made her feel like a hawk spreading its wings as it caught an updraft and soared high above. There was so much space! The world felt wide, so impossibly wide, and she was just a little dot on its surface. A little bit of shadow flitting across the land, running on the grassy turf and gone in a blink of an eye. No one, but her and the fellowship for miles and miles…

It was in their small little hollow, as the fellowship settled down around the fire, that Gimli voiced a question. The dwarf had little to do with the slender dark clothed girl beyond a few words shared after the Council and he was curious of her. He had seen her spar a few times with elves, watched her tease the hobbits, dance with raven haired sons of Elrond and walking alone along the corridors of the elf haven, but he had never directly spoken to her.

"Lassie," said the dwarf and Aiedale raised her head to gaze at the dwarf across the fire. "What is that knife you had out made out of?"

Aiedale had been rather startled by the question and even more that it had come from the dwarf. "Not out of any material you would be familiar with," she said and the dwarf nodded thoughtfully. He was a smith and the memory of the strange blade had stuck in his mind. He had never seen a metal that color or a blade of that shape.

"That a woman wields a weapon…" murmured Boromir under his breath. He obviously did not mean for it to be heard or commented on, but he underestimated Aiedale's hearing and level of annoyance with him.

"Is perfectly ordinary," said Aiedale pointedly. She never raised her eyes to look at the man and did her best to ignore the growing tension between them. He was, she decided, everything she found annoying in mundanes. At that moment she was unable to see the good qualities in the man, his courage and sense of sacrifice to his people had been clouded by the few argumentative conversations between them.

"I don't think I would like your home," said Boromir coldly. "It sounds too strange."

"Perhaps not," said Aiedale with a faint smirk, "it isn't a welcoming place." She had decided to treat the man as she usually treated mundanes – with a faintly condescending manner that would no doubt be highly irritating for a man used to holding people's respect.

Gandalf chuckled, "Your home is a dangerous place. Or at least your mother described it as such." The wizard had drawn a pipe out of one inner pocket and now was blowing smoke rings up towards the rapidly darkening sky. Stars were beginning flicker on like lights being turned on and a sliver of moon shone down on them.

"It is dangerous if you do not know how to survive in it," said Aiedale as she gazed at the flames dancing before. A small pot bubbled along above the cherry flames and Sam didn't seem to be listening to the conversation as he concentrated on the meal he was cooking. "But once you know the street rules," Aiedale shrugged, "you are fine."

That was stretching it a bit, but it was mostly true. Don't walk down dark allies by yourself without a weapon. Check. Learn to smile as sweetly as an innocent teenaged beauty in a black party dress as you prepared to attack as a Nephilim warrior. Check. Don't go to a city park late at night and not expect to be attacked. Check. Don't go anywhere without a cell phone and some sort of weapon. Check. If you are looking to get killed then do none of the above. Easy. She had grown up in a city larger than any in Middle Earth and her world of demons and angel blades did have its own rules. You understood them and you played with them accordingly.

"But even you die," said Gandalf and his eyes looked down on her. "So not even knowing all the rules can save you." Your mother died, went the unspoken words in that sentence. Your father died. Shadowhunters die in the back allies of the city – in all the cities of the world - which you live in on an alarmingly rate. You will die to.

Aiedale looked at the wizard and she knew that even Sam was listening now. "No," she said, "sometimes knowing the rules aren't enough, but it does prevent you from making too many enemies." Why, wondered the Shadowhunter, had they brought this topic up?

_"You will die," hissed the demon. "I will make sure of it Darklighter." _

_"You go right ahead," she had said back to him with a blazing seraph blade in her hand. "See if you can…" _

Aiedale blinked the memory away. It bothered her how much remembering she was doing these days. The past was the past and in her world there was only so much time to remember, but in this world she seemed to have too much time on her hands to think. Or maybe it was just because everyone was so insatiably curious about her and it was stirring things up she would rather leave unstirred.

"You have enemies?" asked Boromir curiously. The man of Gondor was gazing at the pale face of the young woman that he found so irritatingly confusing and too intriguing all at the same time. What kind of enemies did she make? Scorned lovers perhaps?

"Of course," she said conversationally as if discussing the weather, "you don't go around doing what I do and not make a few. One of these days it might catch up with me." Determined to end this conversation before people asked just what she did _do_, Aiedale rose and said, "I will go get some more firewood." She didn't wait for a response before adding, "And I am more than capable of beheading a few orcs." The last thing she wanted was for one of these noble men to feel the need to accompany her a few meters into the dark trees.

By the Angel she was not in need of hand holding!

They didn't need any more firewood, but she was sick of the conversation. Spinning away she moved into the shadows of the trees. If every night she had to answer questions about herself… well she might just have to pointedly turn them around to the questioner. Her life was not a book and she would not serve as a source of dinner story telling. It was bad enough to feel as a dictionary on Shadowhunters and she was - by the Angel! – not an stack of index cards all carefully ordered alphabetically!

Coming to a stop beside an old, gnarled tree she slowed her breathing and closed her eyes. It was understandable, whispered the logical part of her mind. They know what to expect from each other. Elves are immortal and fair. Dwarves are as stubborn as the stone they love. Men are just men with all the flaws you expect of them. Hobbits love their home and stay out of things. Wizards go around doing 'wizard' things and one just expects them to show up and either save the world or set off fireworks.

But Shadowhunters…

They had no idea what she could do.

They had just seen her spar and she had hardly been trying then – which must have been obvious to these experienced warriors. A wizard and elf Lord respected her; the wizard was even impressed by whatever hidden skills she had. Everything she had chosen to share had only raised the level of mystery around her and, in the coming months of travel, they would, sooner or later, find out the full story of who/what she was. Even her choice of dark clothing added to the air of mystery as did her strange weapons. This thought, however reasonable and fair, made Aiedale want to scream in frustration. There had to be rules on this sort of thing! She had made promises to herself not to revisit certain things and she had no desire to explain anything. She had done enough explaining for a life time.

Forcing herself to quiet down, she gathered a little wood and prepared to return to camp. She was well aware that her leaving had been rather childish and also very definitely told everyone – even Pippen – that she had no desire to speak of anything related to her. So, while it served a purpose, the action had been rather foolish and would not have raised her standing in the eyes of Boromir.

Forcing herself to step back into the small camp, she deposited the wood and returned to her vacant seat. Never once did she let her impassive mask slip and she remained silent as conversation drifted around events happening in the lands of Gondor or in the Misty Mountains. Aiedale made no comment when the watch was set and she was told by Aragorn when she would take her turn. She just nodded and lay out her own blankets upon the hard ground. It was hard to sleep, she had done very little of these past weeks and, as it was, needed little to begin with. However, in the few brief hours she did convince herself to take, she dreamed.

For the first time in a long time she dreamed…

_"'Day," said her father as he picked up a tiny little girl and spun her around in the air. "My darling," he smiled widely up at younger version of Aiedale. The child giggled and reached her arms towards her father's smiling face. _

_"Papa," she said and then laughed again as she was spun around. They were in an elegant sitting room, the one in their house back in Alicante. A circular room with tall windows on one side and bookcases that stretched up to the vaulted ceiling, there was a thick carpet decorated with a hunting scene. The little girl had spent many hours looking at the hounds, horses, men and other creatures that someone had expertly woven into the carpet. _

_"Promise me something," said the man as he lowered her and held her close against his side. "Promise me that you will do something for me." _

_"What?" whispered the little girl with green eyes too big for her small face. She was all angles, like a little bird and, still, there was a hint of the woman she would grow to become. _

_"It's alright," said the man suddenly, "forget about it my darling." His eyes looked painfully sad as if, right then, he had realized that nothing his daughter promised would save her when she was cornered and alone. That no matter how much he might wish, he would have to let her go just as every Shadowhunter had to be let go so they could face the darkness of the world. "Just be you," he said gently and, even as young as she had been, the little girl knew that there was much left unsaid._

_"Be yourself," whispered the man in her ear again, "and that will be enough." But, from the expression in his eyes, Aiedale had known it was not enough and she would need more than just herself if she wanted to survive. Even then, as a small child, she had known that the world beyond the Glass Towers of Alicante was a brutal place. That, if her big strong papa was worried for her, then she would have to grow-up strong if she even wanted to stand on a little piece of ground. _

_"I love you," whispered the man and he twirled her in his stele marked, scarred arms. _

_"I love you Papa," said the girl. _

The words haunted Aiedale the next day and the image of her father flickered across her eyes every time she blinked. Her brother looked so like him and, sometimes, his much younger face flickered across her vision. The thought of them made her feel heavy again and she had no wish to be pulled down in the whirlpool of sadness that she had been avoiding the past few weeks. That was something a mundane would do. Give in and feel sorry for themselves, but never a Shadowhunter. Just walking, putting one foot in front of the other as she looked around for any sign of danger, was not enough to keep her traitorous mind occupied. Finally, unable to stop herself, she stepped to the front of their group and said to Gandalf quietly, "I am going to scout around us."

The wizard looked worried, "Are you sure?" Beside him, looking at her with a mix of concern and understanding was Aragorn who walked beside the wizard and directed their path. No doubt the perceptive man had realized that the conversation of the previous night had upset her more than she had let on and that, after struggling to contain it all in the fellowship's presence, she wished to deal with it in her own way – privately while hunting. He would probably ask her about it later, alone, and Aiedale was fairly certain she would have to find some way of avoiding that.

"Yes," said Aiedale quietly. "I will alert you if I find anything."

The wizard looked at her for a moment and then nodded. That was all Aiedale needed before she turned and disappeared into the trees that lined the path they followed. The hobbits watched her go and Sam wondered out loud if she was leaving only to have Frodo say with complete conviction that she would leave until things were done. The young Ringbearer had not forgotten Aiedale's oath or the way her blade had surged with power. He trusted her just as much as he trusted Gandalf or Aragorn. He had no doubt she would see him as far she could.

Gimli ignored it and continued to converse with Merry and Pippen. Legolas, who also felt a desire to scout around them, decided he would join Aiedale and cover the opposite side of the travel from her. Boromir was not sure what he should think, part of him worried that she would be caught or killed and part of him wondered that the wizard and ranger trusted her enough to let her go so. The man of Gondor decided it was best not to think on it, for some reason he was sure that the girl found him just as irritating, confusing and intriguing as he did her. From what he had seen, however, she had more of a temper and it would not do to anger it so soon in their journey. Women, he decided, were impossible to understand already, but Aiedale Darklighter was even worse.

As for Aiedale she reveled in the feeling of being on her own again. This way she could satisfy her Shadowhunter desire to search for a threat and keep her mind occupied on other things then the faces of those she missed. Moving like a swift shadow – just like she had been taught to – the young warrior searched for any sign of the enemies that pursued the Ring. Her mind settled into the deep calm it always did when she was hunting, there was no room for memory or homesickness, just an awareness that made the world around her crystal clear. She was back in her kind of space, doing something she was very good at.

Dinner was more relaxed that night and, at points, Aiedale found herself smiling at the hobbits as Merry and Pippen shared jokes.

Looking up at the stars glittering into the sky, she felt the calm she always did when she hunted settle around her. The past was the past and she would get back home. She fell asleep trying to count the thousands of bright lights that sent their cool light down toward her. There was many miles left to cover and many dangers left to face, but she welcomed it. Every step was worth it if she got home. Any price she would pay to see the faces of those she loved again.

* * *

_**Hay there, sorry for the slow update! Hope you enjoy it and thank you for all the reviews, favorites, follows and reads!**_

_**Review Replies: **_

_**Lady Archer: You are the best :) thank you for all your support! Yes I do have another fan fiction, it is called 'Zoe' and is an Inheritance Cycle fic. I warn you that the early chapters are pretty rough (it was my first attempt at a FF) but the later chapters do get smoother as I get better! lol ah and thank you for the reminder, I am a bit bad about the 'to' and 'too!' Thank you again! and happy reading/writing to you! **_

_**Chris: Practice until your fingers fall off! was my English teacher's favorite line last year. I guess I love reading and reading books gives me ideas :) I am glad you like Aiedale...she is a fun person to write and kind of reminds me of Zoe a little in places to. Of course: thank you for the review! They are awesome! :) **_

_**wickedgrl123: Thank you :) you got a bit of a taste of Aiedale/Fellowship in this chapter and there will be much more to follow! Thank you again for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_


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